A Pillar of Wax

A stout, unlit pillar candle stood solitary on the polished floorboards beside the cabinet. Its pale wax surface caught the amber spill of a nearby floor lamp. I approached with measured strides and paused before it, observing the single black wick rising straight from its center. On the floor lay a forgotten brass washer, dull and cold. I knelt slowly, pressing two gloved fingers against its metal rim, and lifted it over the wick until it settled flat upon the wax plateau. The circle of metal encircled the wick in unbroken balance. Night had found its quiet anchor.