The cold white fury of the snowstorm covered every inch of the country villa.  There within the calculating eyes of the night was a blood red glow.  It seemed to lighten up the surrounding area with a second sight of its own.  The ground was frozen and still beneath the chill, but the eyes, those burning all seeing eyes, continued their ancient vigil.  

I passed by the lantern for the second time that evening.  Blowing on my fingers seemed futile in actually warming them any degree, but the action offered some small comfort in its sheer redundancy.  How long had that lantern burned?  I couldn't remember a time when it hadn't.  Even tonight as the winds raged and the elements combined against the poor pitiful flame, it burned.  My thoughts were distracted from their course, led to some side road in its meandering.  Who kept this thing going anyway?  

I imagined some small imp or leprechaun who lived below the stone encasing.  Like a child entering a dreamscape, I allowed my mind to pick up the thought and run.  Perhaps it was a troll, who eviscerated his victims and laughed as each flicker spoke of their demise.  Or, maybe it was an old gentleman, one of those Marley-types, who in life was had made some dire choice, and now was destined to keeping an eternal flame.  Each image warmed me, and delighted my senses.  

Soon the snow dwindled and the last few flakes began their descent almost apologetically.  I paused at the end of the road and looked back.  How many times had that flame kept my sites clear and my thoughts grounded.  Whoever kept it going had given a gift far beyond the tiny flame, and I lifted my hands and bowed my head in a small act of gratitude.