Candles up tight

When August slid into September and the heat finally broke and the sun started sinking earlier and earlier at night, people in one neighborhood, on just this side of the rail tracks, decided that they hadn't finished with summer yet. So they started the candle parties. Women gathered the nubs of candles long forgotten. Candles used to welcome a husband home from a first day of work. Cinnamon candles used to chase away the smell of nowhere to go. Star shaped candles grown dusty on a child's bookshelf, never lit, never planned to be lit. All these candles, flickers of what was, or had appeared to be, or really hadn't been. All these candles washing the porches in light. All through September and October the people kept on and on, laughing like having an itch scratched with a bark brush. Sighing like a puff of cloud framing the moon. Keeping on and on until the first snow fell. But the candles remained there, on the porches and in the yards. Small reminders of something. Almost buried, or perhaps just tucked up tight in all that white.

(Note: This is one of 7 short stories in a very short collection which can be read at Scribd. If you have time and an interest, please give it a read at...www.scribd.com/doc/65921457/7-Stories-With-7-Pictures)