The flame from a candle danced across the room as he tried to find the words that were eluding him for the moment. He watched the flame, which he could change with a soft blow in its direction. It became a sort of game he played watching the flame dance to the right and then to the left, bending too far with the fear it would snuff itself out. Childish, he thought to himself as he picked up his pen and searched some more for his next sentence that refused to show itself.
Then his eye landed on the glow of the fireplace. A beautiful orange in color, glowing one minute and dimming another. The crackling of the burning wood keeps time like a base drum as the falling embers crash down to the floor in one big final. It amused him for a moment or two, but the words still wouldn't show themselves.
He glanced at the window, the pane frozen with a hundred ice crystals that, one by one, began to melt in the heat of the fireplace. Sliding across the glass as if it were their own skating rink. In his mind, he heard their voices like those of the munchkins on The Wizard of OZ, causing him to laugh out loud at his own foolishness. But the words wouldn't come.
He grew tired and blew out the candles, stoked the fire, and went to bed. Lying in the darkness, he suddenly sat upright and reached for his pen. The words began to flow like a mighty river with no end in sight. Guess all he needed were some dancing candles, a musical fire, and a bunch of munchkins skating on a frozen windowpane that somehow made sense.
Mike 2026
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