LuxThere is a candle burning on my coffee table, in my attempt to use up the various candles of the house. It is a stacked cake of a candle. There are three ardent layers of brown to it, all piled up in a pleasant little glass jar. There is a coffee theme to the odors that are supposed to be thrown off by the thing. They are listed on the side in order: hazelnut, irish creme, swiss mocha. The candle does not smell of too much beyond sweetness and wax, now, and it has burned well into the second tier. This is likely just as well.
This is a candle for magazine ads, not coffee tables. I imagine much work was done in an effort to formulate waxes so that candles of this sort would burn evenly and true, picture perfect flat down to the last dreg of wax and molecules of mocha odor. This candle is not doing that; a cape of wax still climbs one side, while the other offers a murky window for the light to flicker through. I sometimes snuff the flame with the supplied lid, but there are plastic bits to the lid, and I wonder if I ought to. The wick does not burn well, and the lip of the jar is rimmed with candleblack. It is an imperfect candle.
It remains, however: the candle is a candle. The light makes a cheerful dance in the glassware in the kitchen. It flickers and ducks into corners of the room, casting shadow behind the walking sticks. It holds its own against the reading lamp. It is welcome.
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