On the front of the house hung a brand new string of Christmas lights. They were shiny, fresh out of the box, and full of expectations. They held hands tightly and rejoiced in the coming holidays.
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From sheer happiness they swayed in the wind, twinkling merrily, illuminating the yard, the house, and even a piece of the street before it. The freshly fallen snow joined them in their joy, for the colours of the lights were reflected upon it. Thanks to them, it was no longer plain white. Perhaps you do not know, but snow has always had one great dream – to be colourful. The lights fulfilled this dream every night. Of course, during the day they were switched off and the snow kept its familiar white. Beautiful and innocent yet a bit boring. But as soon as evening fell, it could finally become blue, green, red – radiant and sparkling all at once. And with it also the snowflakes fluttering about the lights. And with it, the snowflakes fluttered around the glowing lights.
So the Christmas lights twinkled merrily with joy. They also rejoiced whenever people paused on the street, interrupting their walk just to admire the play of colours. Small children used to say all the colours loud, proud of their wisdom. Small children would shout out all the colours, proud of their knowledge.
But one evening, the lights did not turn on. “What is happening?” wondered the snow. The same happened the next evening, and the one after that. The lights simply stopped shining. The snow was so saddened that, little by little, it turned dirty grey and melted away entirely.
The lights, too, were terribly sad. They did not understand why they had lost their gift of shining at night, at least to bring joy to people. Yet the little birds were delighted, as they perched upon the lights and swung in the warm breeze. Their tiny claws left the lights dirty. Even when it rained, the lights were so well sheltered that the water never washed them clean. For a while they secretly hoped they might shine for the raindrops in the puddles below, but alas, unlike snow, the water was always in a hurry and vanished by day. But alas, unlike snow, water was always in a hurry—it vanished by day.
Again, people began to stop by. They pointed at the lights and said: “What a useless string of lights. Why do they still hang there? It is no longer Christmas. And how ugly they look, turned off like that.” The Christmas lights now knew they brought joy to no one. They were dirty, abandoned, and felt worthless. All day they suffered the heat, and at night they quietly envied the stars and the Moon, which still ruled the night sky.
But the worst was yet to come. A fierce wind arose. Day after day it tugged at the lights. With it came the rain, driven straight against them. Drops fell from them like tears from weary eyes. And then came fogs, so thick that the lights could not see even to the street. They could no longer glimpse the people, who ever more often passed by with Christmas decorations, trees, and great heaps of shopping. From afar resounded carols and festive songs. The lights barely recognised the melody, after such a long time they could no longer recall where they had once heard it. Their memory had faded as much as their hopes of being shiny and colourful again.
And then… one evening, a snowflake fluttered past. Then another, and another. Soon everything was once more covered in snow, as it had been before. The lights felt such an overwhelming joy that all at once, from out of nowhere, they shone again. The longer and brighter they glowed, the more they forgot their past hardships. The first people stopped to admire their beauty once again. Hardened by a year of trial, the Christmas lights now understood how rare and precious such a moment was and how easily it can vanish, like a spark of light. And so they shone more beautifully and magically than ever before.64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzqrRempdB6
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