The candlelight permits the eyes to both see and rest, the perfect bridge between the world of the awake and the world of dreams.
The candlelight is an arc of brilliant gold in the blackness. Though it is flame Jessie imagines walking through it as if it were nothing more than an archway to somewhere beautiful. She imagines shrinking down and stepping into the light, golden and warm, yet not hot. In that moment she is mesmerized, as still as she would be in a photograph.
The candle gives far less illumination than the meanest of electrical light bulbs, yet it is all my eyes can take. By the flickering yellow the room is dark, the shapes of the furniture discernible but the colours so muted that they are almost grey. It reminds me of the hearth in days gone by, when Carl would bring in the firewood and we'd warm ourselves before the bare flames, basking in the glow and praying not to be struck by stray embers. I reach out, fingers to the baby flame to feel the warmth and half smile, half break - memories, warm and cold all at once, the ointment and the knife.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.