It’s so black at this time of the year. I walk into its bleak dankness with a low heart. I seek light. The moon cannot give it. It is but a thin, smile. I walk the Prom to the sound of the sea rolling its mass over stony sand. Turning the corner and there’s a tree, lit with tiny green, red, blue and yellow sparkles. It’s a joy. My heart leaps up to meet it. I see its reflection everywhere, in the windows of shops, cars and bars. It’s even there in the puddles left by this relentless drizzle. Had someone forgotten to switch it off? Its not a real tree. A metal structure formed into a tree, welded and rigid, it, and its three sisters, isn’t much liked by the townspeople. But I like it. I do. And the lights make me a as child again, remembering wonder.
