The Pilot LightThe Pilot LightThe Pilot Light by BootShopStory
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The pilot light is on, in the adjacent apartment. It’s the way the walls glow here. The parking garage collects ice crystals the size of walnuts. So, no one really goes too far to meet each other, when winter is unspooling its formations, in the freezing night air. But the quiet in the air is magnificent. It’s as tangible as a spirit in a dream. Like some strange mirage of peace, that sits and laugh’s frosts over the entire land. The stars turn blue and gold at night sometimes. Like a laughing spider of snow flecked Milky Way constellations.
One year they started lightning candles in their windows at night, for winter. It carried thru into summer time. It happened again in the fall. Now, sometimes in winter, in the town of Last Lake, you see the candles rise at night. You see different flames, of the small lit wick’s gathering their light, and drifting the night air into it’s own sort of dancing breath. Sometimes you might even smell the wa