Living by Candlelight

Slithers of mist roll across the fields and fall effortlessly into the valley. These clusters of cloud turn candyfloss-pink as the sun drifts behind them, and shadows begin to stretch their tired legs across the farm.

Feet start to shuffle cautiously in the half light, guided by familiarity towards ivory-coloured candles. With wicks alight, flames flicker on their journey through the house, adorning tablecloths and armrests and windowsills. A figure balances precariously atop a creaky chair, spinning a black chandelier and shedding pools of hot wax onto the floor. An intimate light envelopes the few, illuminating cards dealt in the darkness and words working across yellowed pages.

Through a different door, blue rings shed an eerie light upon knives upon garden greens, whilst bubbly waters glistens in the sink. Bread bakes above hot coals, causing a cool draft to clash with rising smoke.

Slowly candles burn to base, and people move towards bedrooms caught up in moonlight. Quito lights glitter in the distance, only to happily disappear when the morning sun wakes.