Each evening, when the world fell quiet and the lamps were lit, the old cartographer climbed to his window seat with his maps and compass close at hand. As a younger man, he charted seas and mountains; now he charted dreams.
Tonight, the sky lanterns drifted upward, their warm light weaving through a stream of stars that shimmered like silver spilled across the heavens. He squinted through his round spectacles and made careful marks on his parchment, noting where each wish began its journey.
At his feet, two owls in waistcoats observed the proceedings with dignified patience. They knew better than to interrupt when the old man worked—after all, mapping hope required steady hands and an open heart.
When the last lantern disappeared into the velvet blue, he leaned back with a smile. Somewhere, far beyond the edge of his maps, those wishes would find their way. And until they did, he would keep watching the stars—just to be sure they didn’t lose their course.
