A gang of candles, crowded by small diligent hands, dim, crowded luminance dancing across walls, shadows flirt with joining night. Day finds concentration’s curious folly; lids removed, wax scraped under tiny fingernails, brow furrowed and then a delicate wipe across denim as escape from a sticky hold. Dark crawls cold through cracked windows, the creep of autumn’s crisp chill welcomed after summer’s balm, and innocent playthings return to original purpose, glowing perfect hues of spun copper, brass and gold, warming hearts and home. #irispad #gang #candles #glow #wax #melted #light #soft #orange #dim #poem #poetry #literary_imagery #bokeh #writer #writing (at Waxing Youth)