In the eyes of beholder

      I gazed—and gazed—but little thought       What wealth the show to me had brought

      W. Wordsworth, Daffodils

       The evening sun dipped low over Moominvalley, casting a golden glow across the treetops and painting the river in hues of amber and pearl. The Moomins and their friends gathered on the veranda, as they often did, to watch the day fade into night. Sniff, ever the excitable one, bounced on his toes, clutching something tightly in his paw. “Look what I’ve found!” he announced, his voice brimming with pride. He uncurled his short fingers to reveal a small, shimmering stone. It caught the light, scattering tiny rainbows across the wooden planks of the veranda. “It’s a jewel! A real jewel! I’m practically rich now, you know.” Snorkmaiden leaned closer, her round nose twitching with curiosity. “Oh, Sniff, it’s lovely! Wherever did you find it?” Sure, Moomin agreed with her, even if with some reserve. He wished he had found something that beautiful for her. “By the riverbank,” Sniff said, puffing out his chest. “It was just lying there, waiting for me. Isn’t it magnificent?” Little My, perched on the railing, squinted at the stone. “Ain’t it way too small for a jewel? More like a gravel that’s had too much sun.” Sniff frowned. “Well, it’s my jewel, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the valley!” Snufkin, who had been quietly tuning his harmonica, glanced up at this. He didn’t say a word, but a faint smile played on his lips as he lifted the harmonica to his mouth and began to play. The melody was soft and lilting, like the whisper of wind through tall grass or the gentle ripple of a stream over smooth stones. As the music filled the air, Snufkin’s thoughts wandered. He thought of the places he had seen in his travels—the icy fjords of the north, where the aurora danced in the sky like a living jewel; the emerald forests of the south, where sunlight filtered through leaves like shards of green glass; the deserts of the east, where the sand sparkled like gold under the midday sun. He thought of the sapphire lakes he had camped beside, the ruby sunsets that had taken his breath away, and the diamond stars that had guided him. Sniff’s little stone was pretty, yes, but Snufkin felt a quiet joy in knowing that he carried a treasure far greater—a trove of priceless memories. He didn’t need to boast or show off; his harmonica was enough. Through its music, he could share the beauty he had seen without running out of stock. Still, not that he disagreed with Sniff altogether. Snufkin still needed to be alone to collect those jewels. With others, even friends like Moomin, in tow, their eyes, their ways to feel the world, so different from his, would distort a view, leave it chipped and clouded. The images he shared now were his and his alone. The others listened, their eyes closing as the melody wrapped around them entwined with the last rays of the sun. Even Sniff, still clutching his jewel, seemed to forget his pride for a moment. The music carried them all to faraway places, to landscapes painted in colours no jewel could ever match. And as the last note faded into the twilight, Snufkin lowered his harmonica and smiled. “The world is full of jewels,” he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. “You just have to know where to look.”