The third candle

The third candle is lit, now twinkling merrily on the mantle. Joy is a diamond, refracting and reflecting a sparkling pink light. It spreads over the room like stardust, glittering in every corner.

How is it possible for light to have the quality of music? All the colours of dawn are dancing, drawing me up out of the chair with a lightness my feet have never felt, right into some divine kitchen party. Invisible hands whirl me around the bright flame, and I am surprised to hear my own laughter after so long.

A flash of the aurora borealis answers through the window, joy calling to joy, and I am struck by the beauty of the winter night. The heavens are telling an inexpressible and glorious joy, and I am lit from within.


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