Isobel found the jars on a rainy day under a willow tree.

It was raining cats and dogs when she walked out of school. Most people hurried indoors before the rain could soak their coats. But Isobel enjoyed the rain, the cold breeze, the smell of earth and the water droplets that tickled her skin. That day, instead of going straight home she ran towards the willow tree.

Yes, that willow tree. Everyone knew about the tree on top of the hill. It had lots of branches that hung like curtains. Children dared each other to run in and out, adults said the tree was older than their town.

Isobel ducked beneath the branches to escape the rain and that was when she noticed many jars—glowing jars—placed at the root of the tree. It was as if stars and shiny mist were trapped inside them. Curious to see what was happening she brushed away the mud and wet leaves and picked one.

But as soon as she touched it, something warm rushed through her chest. She could smell cinnamon rolls and hear child-like laughter. Suddenly Isobel saw a little girl run through a garden while someone clapped and cheered her from behind.

Then the feeling disappeared. What was that? Isobel wondered.

“Careful with the jars,” said a gentle voice from behind her. “They are very fragile.”

Isobel spun around. A very old woman stood behind her holding a lantern shaped like a star. She had long silver hair that was braided with tiny flowers and her pockets were bulged oddly as if they were filled with more jars.

“You scared me,” said Isobel

“That happens sometimes,” the woman said while smiling kindly at her.

Isobel held up the glowing jar she was holding and asked, “What is this?”

“Ah, those are lost memories,” the woman replied.

“You can lose memories?”

“Oh yes,” the old woman started explaining, “especially all the happy ones. People get busy and they forget about the sound of their favourite music or how their favourite food tasted or the feeling of jumping into a pile of autumn leaves. I once forgot about the smell of chocolate chip cookies.”

She crouched beneath the tree and picked up a jar.

“My job is to keep them safe and return them. Every memory wants to find its way home.”

Isobel was listening to all this in awe. “Who are you?”

The old woman lifted her lantern and smiled at the little girl. Isobel could see her sharp blue eyes and wrinkles on her soft skin.

“Most people call me the Keeper of Memories.”

Before Isobel could ask another question, a big wind whooshed through the willow tree, the lantern flickered wildly and the ground began shaking. The lights inside the jars were growing brighter and brighter.

“Oh dear,” the memory keeper whispered sadly.

Then—

POP! 

A jar popped like a bubble and golden light zipped into the sky. Then another popped and another. Soon all the jars began popping. Golden mist swirled around them like ribbons. 

“They are escaping!!!” cried Isobel. The old woman reached up trying to catch the whirling mist but was unsuccessful.

The wind grew stronger and glowing memories swirled around them getting higher and higher until they all vanished into the clouds.

Then everything became quiet.

The ground stopped shaking, the strong wind was just a cold gentle breeze, and the lights were gone along with the memory keeper.

Only three jars remained at the root of the willow tree—one golden, another blue, and the last silver—while many more coloured ones dotted the grass around her. Isobel picked them up carefully and placed them in her satchel. She knew she had to return them.

The next day, Isobel walked into town with her jars. The sun was shining brightly and everywhere the birds were chirping. The golden jar felt warm in her hand, the blue one like a cool river, and the silver one hummed softly, almost like it was singing, while the rest of the jars clinked softly in her bag.

Isobel decided to start with the golden jar.

She walked into Mr. Adams bakery. The bell chimed when she opened the door. Isobel could smell freshly baked cookies, cinnamon rolls and melted butter. 

Mr. Adam was a kind old man who was loved by everyone. He smiled at her and said,“Good morning Isobel! Would you like a cookie?”

Isobel carefully placed the golden jar on the counter. 

“I have something for you Mr. Adams,” said Isobel

Mr. Adams looked curiously between the golden jar and Isobel. “What is this?” he asked.

“I think this jar belongs to you sir.”

The memory in blue belonged to Mrs. Maples, the newest painter in town. She had forgotten about the day she saw hundreds of colourful kites in the sky as a little girl. As soon as the memory returned to her, she rushed home to paint kites.

Over the next few days, Isobel returned lost memories. Each time a memory was returned, the person somehow became brighter, like sunshine nestled inside them.  

But one jar remained. The silver one. At night it hummed softly from Isobel’s table. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t find the owner. She wondered whose memory it could be.

One evening Isobel returned the silver jar to the ancient willow tree and placed it next to the root that was curled out of the earth like a ribbon. Suddenly the lantern beneath the branches flickered to life.

Warm light enveloped the damp grasses and near the trunk, Isobel could see the faint outline of the memory keeper.

“You are almost there,” the woman said to her.

“But I don’t know who this memory belongs to,” Isobel admitted.

The Keeper of Memories smiled softly at her and then pointed to the silver jar. “Perhaps this belongs to someone who forgot a very important thing.”

With that the old lady vanished into thin air. Isobel looked down at the glowing jar, she knelt down next to it, wet grass sticking to her knees. Carefully, she opened it. Silver light zoomed out of it and circled around her.

She saw a young Isobel run barefoot in the sand, the ocean sparkled under the evening sun and seagulls flew overhead. Behind, her mother was chasing her and a yellow kite fought with the wind.

Isobel remembered everything at once. The waves crashing, the salty air and the sandcastle she made.

“I forgot about this,” Isobel whispered.

She had completely forgotten about the perfect day by the sea. How happy she had been. Isobel realized something important then, happy memories were more than moments people forgot.

They are the little pieces of light people carry inside them, and during hard days, sad days and lonely days, these pieces of light can make people brave again.