Coney Island Ride, carousel poles, birthday candles. Hair in a twist. Lighthouse in Florida. A gnarled tree.
Flickering candle flames are mesmerizing. It’s hard to avert your eyes.
They cast a flattering light.
The sound of the strike of a wooden match. Tapers on a dinner table. The evening’s about to begin.
Lighting votives in the alcove of a church offers comfort when there’s really nothing else one can do.
Skinny candles on birthday cakesthe smell of wax and smoke after you make your wish, blow them out.
Everyone’s getting those battery operated, remote control, waxy but not real flame candles these days. No carbon marks on paint behind picture frames. No danger of setting the house afire.
I’ve got a set on the mantel right now. Need a load of double AAs. Make them glow again.
The wavering lights of true flames, hypnotize me.
Create shadows on the walls.
Light up a winter night.
Firsts. When you’re only four months old there are so many “firsts” to experience.
This was the first time Charlie saw birthday candles being extinguished.
Everyone sang Happy Birthday.