By four o'clock in December, the lighting is over to us. The sun's long gone, and the dark nights are in. Gloomy? No; cosy. Get it right, and these softly lit evenings are all the better for the contrast with brighter months. Turn the big light off, turn on the softer, lower, kinder lamps. Light the fire, light the candles, let the tree lights twinkle.
This is where the Temple Candle Holder started. I adore our Irrawaddy candle holders, tall and elegant on the table, but I wanted something lower down to spread and vary the glow. Light at different levels does something to a table. It draws people in, relaxes them, connects them.
But the shape came from Yangon. Specifically, from the Shwedagon Pagoda, which gleams golden light over the city every night, peeping between buildings everywhere you go. At sunset, rows and rows of tiny candles, often in little dishes, are lit all round the pagoda as part of a donation ritual. People come, light candles, watch the flames, stand back and pray. Row after row of tiny flames. Nobody hurries. It's calming, simple, very Burmese.
Our Temple Candle Holder shares the shape of those little dishes. When I light it, it takes me to sunset at the pagoda, to the calmness, to the simplicity. A ritual from Yangon, sitting on my mantlepiece.
Why does lighting a candle feel like something? It's such a small act. A match, a flame, a few seconds. But it marks a moment. The day is done. The evening has begun. Someone is coming over, or nobody is.
It also looks lovely with my other candles. And I'm the kind of person who lights them even if I'm having beans on toast alone. Especially then, actually.
