A Thread of Smoke

Returning from the dim arcade, the quiet hush of the study offered welcome repose. Resting atop the dark oak mantlepiece sat an extinguished beeswax candle, its wick smoldering with a frail, wandering plume of pale smoke. Beside it lay an antique turned-brass snuffer. With unhurried poise, I gathered the heavy silk of my sleeves and placed both hands against the cool fluted handle. Exerting measured leverage, I lowered the bell squarely over the smoldering thread. The unruly vapor vanished, sealing the mantlepiece in pristine midnight stillness.