THE WINTER LIGHTS

August nights did not bite as hard as those in July, but the last month of winter was just as desperate to make us miserable. I was convinced it was raining, but it seemed that a chill mist had descended, settling onto my skin, delicate and damp.

I had expressed that perhaps it was unwise to visit an outdoor light show in a time when the temperature was unlikely to surpass ten degrees, but I was informed it ‘added to the atmosphere’. Yes, I suppose on some level the icy air encouraged a sort of romantic ambience, that flirtatious wind spinning circles ’round us till we drew close. Our cold breaths turned warm where they met.

I tried my best to tolerate the cold, but I couldn’t do much to hide my poorly suppressed, pig-like sniffles and nose complaints. It seemed I ruined the intimacy of winter nights.

First, we entered a bright, fiery structure shrouded by hand-picked and strategically-placed greenery, a small nature tunnel. I couldn’t tell if it was artificial; if that fresh, dewy smell drew from the surrounding oaks and myrtles, or the diamond-shaped leaves dripping above me. The smoke machine was almost unnecessary, given the damp fog that swayed at our feet and ascended, with the smoke, above our heads. My sight turned white, and I was forced to remove my glasses.

‘Too foggy for you?’ my partner asked. I wasn’t sure if his patronising tone was intentional.

‘No, it’s fine,’ I responded. ‘It’s nice.’

He nodded, pressing his lips together and glancing away. I watched him stroll forward absentmindedly, the subtle changes in fluorescence causing a gleam in his eyes. Amorous couples lit by small spotlights dotted the walkway. We passed them on our way through further exhibits. I am always a lingering step behind.

We came to a path flanked by dozens of towering trees, all of which were adorned with scattered spots of warm light that shot out thin beams; like distant, dancing stars with a thousand tails. Like some distorted vision. Hypnotising and magnetic.

Words by Alessia Lelli The Winter Lights

‘I can barely see,’ Andrew squinted at the glaring branches.

‘Too bright for you?’ I quipped.

He huffed, barely looking at me. ‘I’m going to go ahead. You coming?’

A slight pang rang through me— I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t necessarily want him to leave, not really. But I was fine on my own, though it had been a while. I was intrigued at the idea of an independent experience.

‘No, you go ahead. I’m going to hang back for a second.’

Andrew nodded, again, and strolled ahead. I turned back to the stars. There was something almost unsettling about the crimson-pink backdrop, but I was too dumbfounded to think critically. I was enchanted.

I looked down at my scuffed boots, my ankles twisted awkwardly as I stood alone in the wandering crowd. I shifted against the gravel, making way for passers-by, listening to small fragments of hushed conversation over their scraping feet. I noticed how the fluorescent lights illuminated their vapourised breaths. Perhaps this tickling chill did amplify the atmosphere.

Even the moon, just a slim crescent, was smiling and lustrous. It felt just as out of reach as these twinkling bulbs, somehow. Just as transcendental.

As I ambled beneath the glow, that faraway orchestra heavy in my chest, I imagined a fantastical world beyond home. I thought of the mystic woods of A Midsummer Night’s Dream— without the chaos, of course; only the magic. I could almost see those Athenian faeries flitting between the trees. A tingling desire filled my blood, caught in my throat. I wanted to be elsewhere.

I want to be taken away, transformed and transported to whatever faraway world was waiting inside that blinding white. Let it engulf me and fly me away, warm in its incandescent embrace. Let me be an untouchable light high in the trees, winking at the bewitched masses, pouring down on their skin, eternally.