TWINKLE TWILIGHT

I had cause to be in town again. I know. Two Saturdays in a row - in the city of stuff. This time though, instead of the cold drizzly night and a pizza, I was there for the crisp late afternoon, the winter sunset, and the twilight of twinkling lights.

What would all this be like if it weren’t for Christmas? Kind of dreary, I’d wager. The shops would still look warm against the cold sky, but there’d be no sparkle, no glow of midwinter hope nor old-fashioned warmth that these decorations inspire. Or maybe we’d be gearing up for Saturnalia.

Having said all that, the contrast of the dark and light played havoc with my eyes today. Twilight was almost impossible to see through. I went down escalators wondering if this is what it’s like to be epileptic. I shuffled past hot chestnut stalls and brightly coloured neon reindeer, wondering whether I might have been drifting out of reality.

I’m scared. Not just of being unable to see, but also of being useless to this twinkling world. Are these really migraines? Should I be feeling like this? Should it all be lasting this long?

I thrust my cold hands into my coat pockets. I buried my nose into my scarf and found myself looking at my shoes, hitting the concrete one step at a time. Families and hand-holding couples swirled around me, chatting happily, living their lives and looking forward to the future under the twinkling lights. I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see much at all.