Wool Goddess

In the stillness of a dark evening, there’s a kind of magic in the act of lighting a candle. It’s a small ritual, almost unremarkable, but in its simplicity lies a profound ability to comfort. For me, it has often been the quiet beginning of feeling okay again after a low period.

Life has a way of ebbing and flowing, with highs that feel like soaring and lows that feel like sinking. During those low periods, the world can seem cold and uninviting. Tasks that once felt simple become monumental. The days stretch long, and the nights feel even longer. Yet, it’s in those moments of darkness, both literal and emotional, that the smallest flicker of light can mean the most.

On this particular evening, the room is quiet. There’s no rush, no demands on my time. I strike a match and watch as it springs to life, the flame dancing briefly before steadying itself. I light the candle, a soft, warm glow immediately spilling into the room.

The flame casts shadows that play against the walls, I sat for a moment watching the flame dance slow and free. It’s as if the candle is creating a cocoon, a small sanctuary away from the noise of the world.

And I sit.

There’s no great epiphany, no dramatic shift in mood. Instead, there’s just contentment, an unfamiliar but welcome guest after months of feeling hollow. The candle doesn’t fix everything, but it doesn’t need to. Its role is smaller, subtler. It reminds me that light exists even in the darkest places, that comfort can be found in the quietest moments.

I let myself breathe. Deep, deliberate breaths. Exhale the weight I didn’t realise I was holding onto. There’s no hurry to move on, no pressure to figure out the next step. For now, I just allow myself to be.

It’s strange how such a small act can hold so much meaning. Lighting a candle doesn’t change the circumstances of life, but it shifts something within. It’s a reminder that healing doesn’t always arrive in big, dramatic waves. Sometimes it comes in the form of a soft flicker, a quiet moment, a gentle reassurance that things can and will get better.

And so, the candle burns. It burns as a symbol of resilience, of hope, of small comforts that piece us back together when we feel broken. It burns for the low periods, the nights that feel endless, and the mornings that remind us of brighter days ahead.

When I blow it out later, the room will return to darkness, but the warmth it brought will linger. It always does. And that is enough.

Feeling blessed.

Hope your day is magical and you notice the small precious moments.

Love & healing hugs