A Candle's Light

A candle stands quietly by me, compelling me to watch its soft exotic dance.  This flamelight recalls all other flames seen in one lifetime -  all campfires, woodland fires, candlelight and firelight.  The moving flame has warmth and a shifting pulsing dimension.  It is never still, always restless.

The night is quiet, the neighborhood blanketed in darkness.  I can hear breakers on the shore if I go out there and listen.  Surf on the dark coast is a distant rumbling like the blood running in my veins.

My candle moves, and I watch its subtle pulsations.  It is a sensitive form, a small tongue tasting the air, consuming candle wax, perfuming the air around me.  It is not without its dangers.  The whole of my world is here in this tiny fire, with the light down low and one flame dancing silently.  All goodness and all evil, all love and all fear are contained and linger there in the shifting waving glow of energy.

Remember?  We have sat by fires and heard the rain roaring on the rooftop, pounding in the forest, and we have gazed into the fire, juxtaposed between fire and water, and we loved that, we have said, all of us.  I am more human with fire near me, with the small flickering light of candles or flame.  It is beautiful; it belongs with me, with us, forever.  

Gleaming, this burning force is ageless, eternal, yet unperturbed on its wick it plays lightly, coy and bright.  Mysteriously, it sways in the company of unseen soft currents, the tiny breath of angels or conversations still moving in the room, long silenced to my ears, enlivened by the heat of this small fire.