Loy Krathong at Lamphun
The lanterns sway like drunk fireflies against the temple walls. Red, yellow, blue - they blur together in the humid night air at Wat Phra That Haripunchai.
I join the large crowd, watching people write their wishes on paper thin as moth wings. The monks chant somewhere in the distance. Their voices rise and fall like waves against the shore.
A child drops her krathong - those little boats of banana leaves and flowers. Her mother picks it up, straightens the incense.
No tears. Just quiet determination.
I write my wish on a yellow lantern. The ink bleeds a little in the dampness: "Peace on earth. Less floods up north."
The lantern joins its brothers and sisters on the temple eaves. From down here, they look like stars that fell and got caught in the temple's embrace.
Sometimes that's all we can do - just stay and watch the light play across ancient walls, listen to strangers sing songs older than our grandparents, and hope our simple wishes, hanging there in the dark, might just come true.