It takes one to burn…and the flame spreads.
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In a silent corner of a snow-caked street was a lone candle -sentient, it seemed to have a watchful eye.
Laura first observed it from her apartment window. It never burned out. But glowed brighter when someone walked alone. A crying child covered in frost. A young lady walking alone. An old man hobbling with a cane, trekking the pavement without help.
Curiosity poked its head from the recesses of her mind.
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She left a warm loaf of sourdough she had just baked outside her door. The candle sparked -swaying in an almost-dance of approval.
It was one of encouragement; Laura did a jig herself.
She thanked the shopkeeper who kept his store open over Christmas. She gave a knitted sweater to the little boy who wore too-thin layers.
And the mailman? She put the dog away so that it wouldn’t jump.
And the candle almost did the Macarena.
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The candle’s glow wrapped the sidewalk on Christmas Eve; the whole street was bathed in its light. Neighbours came out of the shadows, beckoned by its warmth.
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Frost remained until the next morning, holding blades of grass with icy, white fingers. Then a knock on Laura’s door.
The store owner, with a cut of Christmas ham that reminded her of a mini Everest.
Another knock.
It was the child she gave the sweater to. He approached her, a cheeky grin framing his eyes. He had a scarf in his hands.
Another knock.
The mailman – with a packet of kibble endorsed by a bow.
Laura grinned. She kept a candle burning by the window.
Someone would bask in its glow.
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