Stranded World has a landing page here.
It was the season for candles. Autumn settled in her van/RV, approximately eight thousand miles from anyone she knew, and lit a candle on her table.
Just one candle, and hers was red. This was how this thing was done. She sat down on her beanbag, and studied the flame.
It was the time for the flame. Winter excused himself from the quiet social obligations of the party to set a glass candleholder in the North-facing window.
He pulled up a chair in front of the window, and settled in before lighting the candle. Just one, and his was white. There was an order to this, as in all things.
It was just about that time. Spring kissed New Boy deeply, did something somewhat obscene to Slightly Less New Boy, and left the two of them to entertain each other or complain about video games.
She dug the candle – spring green – out of her underwear drawer and stuck it in a metal can in her East-facing window. There was a way to do things, but she was the tangler, so she added two birthday candles for contrast.
She lit all three and stared into the flame.
Everything happened when it had to, and in its own time. This just happened to be the right time to light a candle.
Summer was alone, tonight; she had arranged it that way. She lit the orange-yellow pillar candle and set it, carefully, on the plate from home. Things went the way they needed to, and this way needed one light, and no more.
Summer stared into the flame and thought of home.
Icons all by the wonderful djinni
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/858731.html. You can comment here or there.