I watch a tea candle; a small, contained flame. The black wick arises from the quickly-melted wax, takes a right turn, then runs parallel to the candle’s surface. The flame reflects in the liquid below, reminding me of moonlight on a still lake.
The wick makes me think of death even while it’s a conduit for life, delivering the melted wax.
I’m surprised how triangular the flame is: one side along the wick, the other two sides pointing straight up to a peak of bright orange, only possible because the air in my room is still. It reminds me of a tooth, the way they’re depicted at a dentist’s office in a cross-sectional view. Or a gaseous version of Dracula’s orange, candy-corn teeth; another death image.
Fascinating that the candle evokes a flickering back and forth between life and death for me.
The fluidity and movement of the flame suggests a fairy-like freedom, despite the fact that the flame won’t survive unless it stays tethered to the wick, and the wick only works while there is wax to burn. So much for freedom for the flame.
Beginning Writer’s Workshop: Detail and Description, Lesson #2