The Gilded Sconce

My birch cane tapped softly against the polished walnut as I approached an antique brass candlestick standing sentinel beside the spectacles. Within its scalloped brass cup rested a tapered column of unburned cream wax. Gripping the crook of my cane with both skeletal hands, I hooked the pale wood beneath the fluted drip-pan to test the pillar's steadiness. Finding it resolute, I drew myself up the stepped pedestal, planting my boots upon the wide circular base. Raising my cane upright, I lightly aligned its pale tip with the stiff, braided cotton wick, creating the formal posture of a ceremonial standard-bearer. The midday quiet held its breath with admirable theater.