Christmas Lights

Dec 28 2019

I can just imagine the man

teetering on the top rung

of the fully extended ladder,

a trembling arm

stretched overhead

as far as he can,

fingers freezing in the December dusk

hooking-up lights.

As I walk, after midnight

down my usually grey street,

gazing at the brightly garlanded trees

and illuminated houses

on this not quite holiday week,

between the excess of Christmas

and New Year's bacchanal.

Before the old year

has exhausted itself,

the new one peddled

its usual promises.

It's become a picture-book village

as seen through the eyes of a child,

when the world seems new, and surprising

and the smallest things delight.

Even me

as cynical and bleak as I feel.

Pure primary colours

as luscious as tropical fruit
with that warm focused glow.

As fresh snow begins to fall.

As the dry cold

makes the world seem newly made.

I have never put up lights.

My house has always been dark,

like a blackened tooth

in a dazzling smile,

a sullen gap

in a street party open to all.

And I know, in less than a week

most will be extinguished.

Are they proud home-owners, showing off,

like the ostentatious display

of an alpha male

asserting dominance?

Or is this community spirit,

good neighbours doing their part

for the good of the whole?

All I know is how lifted I feel,

how little it took

to give me hope.

So, are displays like this beautiful,
or tawdry, and tasteless?
Am I some simple-minded grown-up

to be so easily swayed?

A few multi-coloured lights

in the short dark days

of a quickly dwindling year.

Which are now getting longer

bit by bit.

The incremental journey toward spring

and earth's perennial rebirth,

when the festive lights

will have been long retired,

the enchanted street returned

to its usual humdrum sobriety.