Twilight splashes its final periwinkle shade across the horizon. Inky silhouettes shiver in the creeping breath of nightfall outside. Icy winds slide their talons under my window sashes and slink inside. Winter cackles in long drafts through the house and makes itself at home.
I light a cinnamon candle. The votive casts a golden arc to cheer shadows away from the table. A flame dances from the once ugly wick. Though charred, the frolic of light anoints its core with beauty and releases the stored fragrance to bless the room. Huddling over the joyful glow, I warm my fingertips and nose.
The chilling winter night continues to claw at my back. One candle governs its range with light, but I must light all the candles to dispel darkness from the house. The dry wicks take hold of the fire with instant joy, while glossy ones take more time to light. When the lit wicks all shimmer, the aromatic glory routs all cold shadows from my home.
We must join as Spirit-flamed candles, for victory over the freezing shadows of evil requires all Christ bearing souls to dance together.