On this growing colder November day

As the light lessens

And darkness knocks at my door

I hear my candles whispering their request

“Will you please grant us light?”

 

Such a simple thing

The striking of the match against the box

The flame as it leaps from the tip of the wood

The smell of fire

And poof, like magic,

They are alight

 

Such a simple practice

Here, in the early days of winter

This season of thanksgiving preparation

I light my candles and remember

 

The silver candelabra that belonged to my grandmother

Reminding me of my ancestors, though passed from this place

Are not too far away

They watch through the veil

Residing in my dreams and memories

 

The candle my husband gifted me from India

Reminding me that not all dwell in comfort

I strike the match

Asking the Divine to bring hope and freedom

To those who live in poverty and are oppressed by the

Caste system

May there be light, may there be hope

May there be justice

 

The three in red on my windowsill

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

You are present

You are welcome here

As you gift your light into the night

You remind me that you are within and without

You breathe light

And are ever present in loving kindness around me

And in all whom I meet

 

My Native American blue glass eagle holder

A gift from my Mom and Dad

Not knowing of my fondness of eagles

Reminding me of this totem

The presence and gift of the eagle in my life

Of vision, hope and power

 

My glass candleholder from Krakow, Poland

Reminding me of  the suffering that country endured

For those who suffered,

I remember

And for those who suffer now

 

I strike the match against the box

Watch the flame as it leaps from the tip of the wood

The smell of fire

And poof, like magic

They are alight

Magic and mystery, light in the darkness

Peace