Saturday's Storyteller: "Even though it was late, they waited until all the candles burned out."
by Belinda Roddie
Even though it was late, they waited until all the candles burned out. They watched each stump of wax melt into dark blue rivers, the bubbling beads like glass marbles hot to the touch. They held each other, arms pressed against the other's waist, and barely breathed so as not to disturb the flames.
As each prayer sent smoke to the heavens, they hoped that their hopes and dreams would be heard. There had been no games of dreidel this year; no gelt exchanged or gifts offered. But they had cooked latkes, and now they tended to the menorah that was speckled with the hardened blue of candles both now and years ago.
When a candle went out, they watched the smoke rise in soft, silent curls that almost reached the ceiling. Before that, however, was the remaining cool blue halo of fire radiating from the crumbling wick. It gave hardly any heat, but still it pressed on and provided what little light it had. All while its brothers melted down their towers in order to meet with it.
It was late, but they waited until they all burned down. Then they asked each other which prayer they thought was heard the loudest. The first candle to be lit had been the last to extinguish its flame. The prayer it carried was a prayer of peace.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.
Even though it was late, they waited until all the candles burned out. They watched each stump of wax melt into dark blue rivers, the bubbling beads like glass marbles hot to the touch. They held each other, arms pressed against the other's waist, and barely breathed so as not to disturb the flames.
As each prayer sent smoke to the heavens, they hoped that their hopes and dreams would be heard. There had been no games of dreidel this year; no gelt exchanged or gifts offered. But they had cooked latkes, and now they tended to the menorah that was speckled with the hardened blue of candles both now and years ago.
When a candle went out, they watched the smoke rise in soft, silent curls that almost reached the ceiling. Before that, however, was the remaining cool blue halo of fire radiating from the crumbling wick. It gave hardly any heat, but still it pressed on and provided what little light it had. All while its brothers melted down their towers in order to meet with it.
It was late, but they waited until they all burned down. Then they asked each other which prayer they thought was heard the loudest. The first candle to be lit had been the last to extinguish its flame. The prayer it carried was a prayer of peace.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.
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