Have you ever watched a candle burn?
Smaller than a cigarette and spiraled with pink or blue, birthday candles are my favorite.
Poked into snow white frosting and crowned with an orange flame.
We serenade the drops oozing down the stem, molten paraffin usually splashing onto the sweet plaster before the last “…to you.”
Most icing tastes waxy because we have this silly habit of melting wax on it before we eat it…
Larger than a cigar and gently white, fancy dinner candles are also nice.
Mated with a polished silver holder, rising eight inches over the table cloth the wick holds a tiny sun while evening, food and conversation revolve.
Pressing its orange glow into inky space the yellow outer flame dances with the night.
Dark becomes light by traveling an imperceptible transition to the center.
Burning white and clear at the same time, at the center.
Pure and still. Bright and invisible.
Here’s another thought full of wonderment…
The Center is a point. You can miss it in every direction.
Mr. Frost put it this way…
We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.
I’m guessing he spent some time staring at candles.