Eternal Childhood.


candle wax

My birthday tumbles upon me unexpected, unplanned from amidst the recovering turmoil of trips and weddings. Tonight we will celebrate but now everyone is working and retired friends too far away for impromptu plans.
The day stands empty before me, what would I like to do? A visit to the lakes and lunch at my favourite old English pub maybe, but I have no escort and anyway its summer holidays and I’m babysitting. Then my eyes light upon the “perfect man”, only nine years old, but already a “ladies man”.
Soon enthroned among solid English beams we sit fascinated examining a waterfall of candle wax three feet wide harboring in its depths whispers of a hundred nights, telling stories of families, lovers, of love grown old and comfy. Above, blackened rafters look down from the white plastered roof, telling of wood smoke and olden day sights and sounds they witnessed.
Candles and young boys have an affinity and the waiter is indulgent. Soon we are fashioning leaves, moons and fish from softened wax.. I show him how to dip his finger tips in the molten candle to make “witches nails” reviving a hundred memories of bygone dreams of love and peace. We laugh and smile. As I swish my glass of red wine enjoying the colour and scent I realize I’m having a really good time. My young escort is the perfect host.
At last our tummies full, our hearts content we call for the bill. The staff smile, happy we enjoyed our visit, but sometimes I wonder who is really the child?

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