The weeks of exposure to aggressive, ugly advertising, bearded, fat old blokes dressed in red, and sweetly sickening music come to an abrupt end, as the moment itself passes almost in an instant - much quicker than its slow, pompous build-up had promised. Blink and you miss it.
After being heralded for so long and welcomed by so many, Christmas fucks off and dies with a whimper. Stabbed in the back like a petty crook on the run, left to die in a dark side alley somewhere on the way back to everyday life. Still, while rain turns to snow and the chill makes an unwelcome return, my way home is littered with its remnants and leftovers.
Porches are crowned with arches of blinking lights. The naked skeleton of a tree is illuminated by hundreds of tiny, glowing beads, sitting where leaves would rustle in the summer wind. The shopping centre radiates in a majestic glow that blinds the eye and numbs the mind. It is a proud beacon of commercialism, a suburban siren, luring many a poor soul to financial shipwreck on the rocky coast of consumerism.
A police car stands by the kerbside. Its occupants are looking for drivers who enjoyed too much of the christmas spirit(s). A streetlight flickers and sends out one last, blue-ish spark before going dark for good. The falling snow gets more intense and starts covering streets with a thin, white layer. Winter is back. People go to sleep. Waste bins are filled with torn and crumpled wrapping paper and the bones of turkeys - all evidence has been disposed of. Christmas is over. No-one sheds a tear.
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