Smoke and Silence

I only smell candles when they are blown out. I never notice the tiny flickers, the warmth, the aroma. The instant a candle is blown out, though, I know it. Thoughts come. Suddenly an empty room becomes a family birthday party. Little children laugh, noisemakers serve their purpose. In a nearby room, the rip of wrapping paper signals a new gift.

Sugary-sweet, like the homemade icing on someone’s favorite cake, the scene lingers. Then, vanishing like the tiny puff of smoke itself, the memory is gone. More thoughts come. On one especially common occasion, a new thought comes.

Candles are no different than people. Made with a purpose in mind, each one shines its solitary light for as long as the whipping winds of circumstance allow. Then, in that indescribable moment between darkness and a room free of the smoke it left, people notice. People who have never noticed before, notice. Another memory to be had, they think of other things.