The Lantern Ahead

 

My journal entry (text in bold represents a truth or factual event):

On this night I walked the Shadowed Path, the part of the forest with which I am most familiar. The path can feel dangerous; its twists and turns are often veiled in darkness, obscuring what lies ahead. I rounded one such bend and found a light waiting on the path before me.

 

I stopped and remained perfectly still, observing what appeared to be a floating ball of light. It was not truly a lantern as one might imagine, for it lacked any fixtures or fittings. The sphere glowed yellow at its core, as though a tiny flame were trapped within. Yet I could not tell what it was made of - or whether it was made of anything at all.

 

I approached to take a closer look, but as I stepped forward, it moved forward too. I paused before taking another step; again, it mirrored me. I tried to quicken my pace, but it matched me, and every attempt to alter my cadence was answered by the lantern. At last, I stopped, somewhat perplexed. As expected -  it stopped too.

 

The light did not seek to lead me, for it halted whenever I did. Yet it never ventured ahead or drifted away. It seemed content to match my pace, as though its purpose was not to direct my journey but simply to share it. I was in no hurry, so I continued along the path. The light remained a little ahead of me, always keeping pace. 

 

When we rounded another corner, a small glade opened in the distance, lit by many more orbs. I was reminded of a minstrel I once met at a fayre, who sang a ballad about the lights in our hearts: how they burn brightly for moments of love, and dim as we experience loss. I thought of my family - many now lost to me, or far away - and the light before me seemed to pulse a little brighter.

 

We walked together, the light and I, until we reached the glade. In the centre stood a crescent-shaped stone balanced upon a roughly hewn base carved with runic symbols. The light found its home there, forming the heart of the crescent: supported by neither stone nor sky, simply hovering, and defying all that I knew of such things.

The Truth In the Text

The minstrel in the tale is Michael Rosenberg, better known as Passenger, an English indie-folk singer, songwriter, and musician. Like many people, I first encountered his music through his widely known song Let Her Go, which seemed to be everywhere for a time on advertisements and throughout mainstream media.

I have seen him perform twice: in November 2018 and again in October 2022. The photograph below was taken at the 2018 concert at The Gov, one of Adelaide’s more intimate venues. Being able to attend small performances like this brings me great joy; there is something special about being close enough to feel that the music is being shared rather than simply performed.

Taken at The Gov, November 20, 2018

His song, All the Little Lights, is the ballad I describe in the journal. It came to mind after I read the prompt because I am currently arranging my aunt’s burial. She died on 27 August 2026, under unclear circumstances, and we are still awaiting the coroner’s report.

Though she was technically my aunt, she was only eighteen months older than me. For a brief period in my childhood, we lived with my grandparents, and the small difference in our ages made her feel more like an older sister. We drifted apart in our teenage years, separated by distance and desire. My stepfather had no love for my grandmother, so we visited infrequently, and eventually not at all. Over time, I think my mother began making the trip alone, to avoid upsetting him.

We reconnected last year, when she moved back to South Australia to escape a man who treated her badly. She smoked heavily and had been diagnosed with COPD - another reason the song came back to me.

Two days ago, I had the sombre task of going through her belongings. The unit smelled awful; a half-eaten meal had begun to turn. I do not know why that surprised me. It was not the police’s job to deal with those things. Still, it felt surreal, as though she had merely stepped out the back for a smoke, leaving her glass of whisky and cola waiting for her return.

I cleared the fridge, folded and bagged her clothes, and opened every envelope and folder, looking for keepsakes for her sons. I found three boxes of photographs as well as a collection of poems and letters she had written for her boys. I hope they become little lights for them to remember her by.

The Make

The journal feature page was inspired by an art class with Ruth Wilshaw, who specialises in gouache painting. This one is called 'The Everflame' because it is the source of light for all lanterns. That seemed fitting.

This was done on A5 100% cotton watercolour paper by Paul Reubens. This particular one has glitter in the paper, although I think that is wasted somewhat with the opacity of gouache, but a few are peeking through the paint to add a very subtle shimmer. I am also trying out some new Fuumuu watercolour brushes, which are performing very well so far.

I have decided not to mount it or attach it to the journal pages, instead I am going to keep it stored in a plastic sleeve. That way, when I am gone, the kids can do what they like with it.

The journaling was done on a Royal 120 manual typewriter on Mont Marte A5 Sketch Paper. Once the text was done I tore one edge and inked with Tim Holtz Distress Ink (Tea Dye) and spritzed with a strong solution of cold tea to age the paper. Each piece of text was then glued to a piece of Monte Mart A5 Recycled Toned Drawing Paper. 

The raccoon holding a lantern was sourced from Creative Fabrica, the image covers a pocket made from an envelope, inside the pocket is a copy of the set list from the 2018 Passenger concert. Sadly, he did not play All The Little Lights that night.

Similarly the image on the final page with the lanterns hanging from trees was also a junk journal printable sourced from Creative Fabrica.