a candle in the window

Sometimes, when I'm in a contemplative mood, I sit by my window and look outside. I like doing this during the day, but it's at night when the world really comes alive. Shadows, dark figures walking by, cars parking on the street, lights twinkling below in someone's garden, all quiet, nocturnal things that speak to me louder than the bright, hot colors and sights of the day. I sit and look out the window, listening to the crickets, thinking things or sometimes thinking nothing much at all.

A few nights past the weather was perfect for October. Faintly ominous, with heavy fog, a light wind and the faintest last hint of summer's warm evenings. A scattering of droplets fell from the sky, coating everything in a dusky sheen, clinging to the sidewalk and coating my hair.

It was on this night I decided to get re-acquainted with my nightly ritual of Observing. It had been suspended for part of the summer, and the time was right to start it anew. I pulled the air conditioner out of my window and lifted up my window screen to let in as much air from the outside as possible.

While sitting on my windowsill and looking around, I noticed a comforting sight. It was so minimal and unassuming that I was probably the only person in the vicinity to see it. Yet it brought me so much happiness to look at that I sat and stared for a long time, simply soaking in the sight.

What was it? A little candle flame, flickering in the window of an apartment building two streets over. Most of the rooms I could see into from my perch were dark, but the one room with the candle looked bright, cheerful and glowing. It was such a happy sight. Someone had taken the time to place that candle in their front window, light it, and admire it. Now here I was too, enjoying the bright and flickering flames.

The next night I took a glance outside, and again saw my trusty little candle friend. And then, again, the next night, there it was, glowing away.

The candle has replaced my old comfort, which was a red curtain someone had hung over their window. I never could see inside the room where the curtain was, but when ever that person was home they always had their light on, which gave a bright red glow through the drapery. On Friday nights, when I was home alone and feeling lonely, I'd look through the window and would often see that room, brightly lit up, assuring me that someone else was staying in for the evening as well.

One day the curtain and light ceased to be there, and eventually it was taken down. I think the person must have moved, because now there is no curtain there and I can see that the room I'd been curious about all this time had been someone's kitchen.

Eventually, I am sure, the candle in the window will stop being burnt at night. It will diminish and eventually cease to burn. But until that evening comes, I'm planning on enjoying the comfort the candle brings me, the human connection it gives me. And, perhaps, by the time I stop having the comfort of my candle, something else will have come along to take its place.