Our Knot

We are a tangled mess of Christmas lights.

One that, once, was placed with care, adorning snow capped trees, radiating a gentle golden-white glow that served to bring joy to those lucky enough to stroll by.

Instead, we now sit cold and dark in a snarl that only serves to frustrate.

To remember us as that soft glow, illuminating those around us - trees, streets and people alike - would be to forget the other 48 or 49 weeks of the year when we sat, twirled up in a box, tucked away in a cold, dark and musty attic, where our knots tightened and our bulbs cracked. Neither of us retain the patience to fix each bulb, one by one, or unbind what was bound.

Though our ensnared wires have become familiar, if not comfortable, we are of no good to each other or to those around us as we exist now.

Instead, perhaps it's best to simply buy a new strand
of lights.