They gather to witness the nightly parade. Yet I have seen people defend these phantom territories more vigorously than they would their homes, even though, in an hour or so, these impermanent estates will dissipate into history without a second thought. More and more of our guests are beginning to line the central streets, staking out a tiny, impermanent claim, a temporary place of refuge against the crush of strangers, girt with insubstantial boundaries that hover scant inches away. It is the time of night when even feet that have walked a league or more in fits and starts find themselves quickening as they head for a final rendezvous, jollied along by the strolling vendors selling balloons and glow sticks, assorted snacks and light-up toys. The crowds below are clamorous and giddy with an excitement that even the most jaded of them are surprised to find still lurking within their breast. The hidden speakers play a compositional hash of tunes, mixed and reengineered to bring a smile of memory to lips and a continuous current of energy to tired limbs. The surrounding streets and buildings are wreathed with several million lights, and hidden projectors shift colors to cheerful effect. Call me a traditionalist.ĭirectly below me, the castle is lit with a particularly revolting chartreuse and pink lighting scheme. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.Įven after all this time, I will admit that the counterpane of lights below still causes an inrush of breath in wonder and delight at the beauty that humanity creates all too inadvertently, but these glowing confections, even with their dancing neon and sheets of LEDs, compare poorly to my no doubt jaundiced memories of the skies of yore. The air is cleaner, though now I hear tell that it is the very glow of the city lights that work to obscure the heavens. I think I would have gone mad if that ancient sentinel and nighttime companion had also been obscured by the enveloping vapors of this land’s machines.Īs it is, I must concede that there are more of them these nights than there were even twenty years ago, a welcome trend, if it continues. There are stars visible, but they are a paltry remnant that makes mock of my memories.
I miss the stars of my youth, the vast tapestries of patterned lights that wheeled down the seasons, the endless display of celestial majesty.
It’s early evening and the vast shield of the night sky lies above me.
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