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Shut out the world.  Stop the moving.  Light the candle.

Peace will follow.  If the day has been too rough, the sun too hot, life to exacting, light the candle.  Peace will follow.  I will remember the boma, long after the African sun has gone to sleep, watching the fire dance, the sounds of the animals, the veil of night glide softly down.

I will remember the churches where I light one, two, always three candles and pray for the love of those I love.  Remember friends at the dinner table, laughing, faces softly lit with the flame of kinship.  A time of writing, of reflecting, tasting wine infused by flicker, enhancing red, lifting white, tasting better.

Planning the day ahead.  The future.  Subdued music, Steve Tyrell crooning about the real love, that it’s cold outside, and of course, it had to be you.  Candle light alters bathing to luxurious lingering in water.  Sensual aroma, sensual me.

The world is right with candles in it.  Softens the edges of hurt, of critic, of loss.  What darkness without candles, what brashness with white light.  I am happiest in candlelight.  Outside the world looks friendly, inside the night is pretty.  I remember the times when candles equalled love coming closer, nature more enhanced and happiness around the table.

Give me a candle, and you give me the opportunity to go there again …

 

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