The battered old box was deep in the cupboard, steadfast as ever. He thrust the longest pair firmly into the old candlesticks and slid open the matches. He smiled knowingly as the bulbs all winked out, as they did every storm, accompanied by a series of sudden yelps that fought to be heard over the thunder. Returning to the lounge he set the candlesticks down, opened the book, adjusted the blanket, and beckoned.
The children heard only him as the storm, despite its sound and fury, passed without further comment.
~ Leland V, 2015