The flame burns brightly all night. It is a soothing flame, a sheltering light. The flame may flicker, the wind may try, but the candle is made of magical stuff. The wick is pure and straight, the tallow ethereal. The writer always makes sure the wick is trimmed, the candle placed straight and true in its holder. “Look for the light,” he instructs. “It’s always on, always warm, always burning just for you!”
The writer has certain tools available to him. Metaphors allow expression of thoughts and desires when “unshiny” words fall short. The writer is jealous of the painter and sculptor -- their creations may be felt and viewed from many angles, while words merely persist. Sometimes the words flow like a parable – explaining, tempting, devising.
Perhaps the words create a parable describing how love must be nurtured, how the candle must be trimmed and glowing to guide passion. True passion comes from the heart – so too creativity.
Squint your eyes and picture candlelight streaming through a frosty window in the dead of winter. The candle flame becomes circles of light radiating from the flame to reach the eyes and the heart. I tender that candle, I tender than flame, it is for you and it is always lit, glowing, waiting just for you. Look for the light dear friend.
While the candle light may flicker and give little heat at a distance, the closer you get the more warmth you receive from the flame. The closer you get, the more soothing the light becomes. You should always keep that image in your heart and stay close to the light; it can warm you, nurture you, and remind you of all those things which bring you joy and elicit passion.
Idiomatic communication is a requisite in development of intimacy in a relationship, and always parallels the growth.
The writer sees poetry in the symmetry of the seasons. On the last day of winter, his passionate eye was cast firmly on the light of that candle.
The sign of perseverance, of stability, of permanence is not an annual anniversary. No, it is the closing of the circle, the passing of the seasons. Once all scenes of the movie of life have cast their parts in all the splendor of the four seasons on the stage of humanity, the circle is closed and begins anew.
Once the circle is closed, no matter how tenuous or light the circle might be, once it begins again, especially if with vigor, the outline of the circle will be bolder, firmer --more permanent.
Instead of an end, the change of season is a new beginning – a time for renewal, of fostering those things in life most important and critical to harmonious survival. The buds of spring will blossom into fruits of summer, if tendered and nurtured.
A friendship is like a garden. If tended and weeded will grow and blossom. The garden will never reach perfection unless nurtured. If left unattended, the flowers will wither and die or at least be lost amongst the weeds. If carefully cultivated, new growth and new blossoms will spring forth in abundance.
Certainly it was the first thunder storm of the year, on the first morning of spring that caused the writer to awaken.
The Arrow and the Song
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart
www.poemhunter.com/poem/arrow-and-the-song-the of a friend.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A true friend will know the song in your heart and be able to sing it back to you, when you have forgotten the words.
A good friend is like Haley’s Comet -- you can’t always see them, but you know they are there and will always come back around at just the right time.
A friendship is like a precious chain. Each link is a memory, linking past to present. If you are not careful, and a link breaks, you suffer the chance the memories, as well the friendship will be lost.
Friendship is like a cup of coffee. When it is first poured, it is hot and satisfying. But, if you don’t sip, it will soon grow cold and undrinkable.
The depth of our love is only diminished by the count of our wounds. Take care any wounds you inflict are superficial and not so deep they cause scars.
I climbed the mountain, and you were there!
Until next time--
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In to the Wind and this column are copyright 2011 Mike Gilchrist. Readers, feel free to contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org via email, or write to me at P.O. Box 255, Toledo, IA 52342.