The Votive

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The wick sparks, snipping and hissing as the white cotton cord catches fire. Hunter green wax puddles in the center, pooling out toward the glass flower-pot holder. A wisp of smoke trails up toward the ceiling like a tiny tornado, twisting and bending in the air currents. Wax around the edge curls in like waves prepared to collapse in on themselves. The wick is short and so is the flame, brilliant sapphire at the base, so blue it blends in with the black charred bit. It smells like Christmas – fresh cut balsam fir and snow–crisp and comforting. The liquid wax rises like a flood, but the flame will not be swallowed up. It burns the deep amber hue of defiance.

 

This was the product of our first assignment for my creative writing class. The focus was description. Looking forward to our future assignments. Today, we focused on our aspirations and dreams. It was really challenging to dig into why I want to write and how I plan to accomplish my goals. Good stuff!