With a crispness in the air, and the days getting darker earlier, I walk right in the door and light a candle when we arrive home. There is something about the ritual I find immensely soothing. I am not sure if it somewhat relates to growing up Catholic and being an altar boy, but I have a strong suspicion it might. When we have guests, the task of lighting all the candles I like to have lit can take quite a bit of time. It almost becomes a form of meditation. The repetition of the match hitting the striker, the flame touching the wick and transferring the flame–creating light and warmth.