I light a candle to write by -- to make, for writing, a sacred space.
The candle is white, tinged with shades of purple, variegated, swirling.
There's a tear-shaped swirl at the bottom, three parallel arcs at the top.
In between are stipples, gradations, and meandering flame-like lines.
There are changes of colour from top to bottom, through blue to hot pink.
The actual flame appears to be stretching, elongating, reaching up.
For several days, huge fires have been burning in the Adelaide Hills.
The candle is white, tinged with shades of purple, variegated, swirling.
There's a tear-shaped swirl at the bottom, three parallel arcs at the top.
In between are stipples, gradations, and meandering flame-like lines.
There are changes of colour from top to bottom, through blue to hot pink.
The actual flame appears to be stretching, elongating, reaching up.
For several days, huge fires have been burning in the Adelaide Hills.
I'm doing another 'mindful writing' course offered by Satya and Kaspa, just because their courses are such nice things to do from time to time. This one is called Finding Your Way Home.
For no reason except whimsy, I decided to make this first small stone of the course a series of American Sentences, a Western form of haiku devised by Allen Ginsberg (17 syllables each).
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