Lights on

There’s a yellow tin sign warning that there will be possible traffic delays as they will be switching on the town’s lights tomorrow. They seem a little lack lustre this year. They have dispensed with the Welsh/English flashing on and off Santa image that used to hang above Great Darkgate Street for some more discreet trails of lit white lines but there don’t seem to be as many and only a few of the trees along North Parade have lights around their branches, and these are tiny, little flickering blue bulbs that one would almost miss. And the tree too, outside the jewellers appears smaller. Cutbacks, I suppose. Heigh ho.

I forgot to mention the huge ginger cat whom I dream of the other night. It was about to attack me, and I watched in horror as it got bigger and bigger, puffing up its fur and opening its jaws. Help me, I called to her. Is it in anticipation of seeing her? She was in my dream last night too. What is it that I am afraid of?

It was lovely but it gave me a rash, all down my back, not red but lumpy. Was it the massage oil she used? Or her washing powder. Or is in it me, all this agitation I’ve been feeling? All this rushing about. There nothing to feel proud about anymore, I thought, as I lay there, too hot under all those blankets. Why do I need to feel proud? my more sensible voice asked. He would say just be. Just be who you are. Even if it an unresolved, always searching, never finding kind of me? Yes, absolutely. You just need to see it another way, from a different angle. That’s all. Concentrate on the detail, the smaller picture. You are doing the best you can. That’s all. That is enough.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.