The tall elm tree is decorated in fairy lights the whole way up its trunk and all of its branches. A magnificent serendipitous emblem of Christmas madness. The lights shine onto the windows of the three story building where three families live.
On the first floor, a rather depressive family from Uruguay, cover up the windows to shield them from the lights that shine throughout the night. The fairy tree quietly mirrors back its light into the street. The lights are unconcerned with the thick curtains. No one can impinge upon its joy.
The family on the second floor, who so valiantly carry their baby and carriage up and down those steep stairs numerous times a day, have put large shining orange paper maché stars in every window.
On the third floor, the young couple play their violins together every evening. How romantic. Or is it just their job? They hang one red star in their living room widow. A token to Advent. It appears lost. Almost an after thought. When they are finished practicing their music, the living room lights turn off, the lone red star shines alone. In the next room their television flickers hours long.
I sit and wonder at all the goings-on in that household. The Christmas lights. Hoping they bring joy to those they shine upon.
Suddenly, the sickle moon appears from behind a moving cloud. It shines down on the building, over into my window, and thankfully, to all my others; my kindred souls sprinkled all over the place. I send you my thoughts and wishes for a fine holiday season.