Grandfather's Workshop III

The bell above the door sang out,
like the harness to a horse-drawn sleigh.

And always the smell, the pungeance of it,
of dust and old books, and eucalyptus.

Candles in sconces stood along the walls,
distracting, for the moment, with their glare
and confusion.

Why candles, visitors would ask him? But I knew.
He thought they gave the right atmosphere for his work.

The candles,
and the heavy wood paneling
and the rows and rows of glass jars and display cases
filled with mysterious contents most people would never
come to know.

Grandfather was a fascinator.