colored bulbs, the fat retro kind. the kind we had on our house when i was a kid. I'm standing on top of a ladder putting up christmas lights. It's south florida, the sun beats down on the side of my face. my eyes adjust to the glare. an ice cream truck turns the corner. It's the holidays.
lights thrown randomly across the bushes. I should have done this later in the day. they are plugged in but you'd never be able to tell. on or off. everything seems out of place.
at night things change. in the dark it almost seems like december. lights twinkle, stars flutter. something akin to joy rises briefly in my heart. tinsel in clumps. a homemade decoration hangs from the tree. grandmas ghost is a sparkly beaded ornament. she made one for each of us. it hangs like a mystery, a gift after so many years she's been gone.
it doesn't fit in with the others. its better because it hurts a little. everything good has to hurt a little.
at night things change. in the dark it almost seems like december. lights twinkle, stars flutter. something akin to joy rises briefly in my heart. tinsel in clumps. a homemade decoration hangs from the tree. grandmas ghost is a sparkly beaded ornament. she made one for each of us. it hangs like a mystery, a gift after so many years she's been gone.it doesn't fit in with the others. its better because it hurts a little. everything good has to hurt a little.
No comments:
Post a Comment