Shadow dance

The dance of shadows skip across aged oak; reflecting back the scenes of old, played out with many a truth and lie.

Thy flame flickers alive, magic in its presence. 

Ever holding true potential yet encased in its chamber like the soul it shines thy light so warmly upon. 

This light, dim enough to draw the nights darkness to the fringes, is yet a seed of the day with all her brilliance consumed in the passing late hours.

In this land alone, how many candles have lit how many stories? 

When rest comes, flame must draw to a close, the smoke carries upwards reflecting the spirit it has brought company of this eve.

Until the next time my friend.