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Some lights have made it year after year. Others haven’t. It’s the (natural) selection of decorations, a species subject to fashion, style, fleeting moods, or the unexpected, mysterious disruption in the electric circuit that can occur at any given moment of those 350-odd days when lights are confined to cardboard boxes, when tiny light bulbs pop at decibels below our hearing threshold on, say, 20 March, 5 June, 19 September, 23 November… The little bears with multicolored bottoms – they’d lived through the fall of the Soviet Union! – went on strike unanimously during a storm. Then the myriad flowers, one by one, were reduced to five still glittering, three dimly lit, and eight all gone. There have been ivy-like streams of light in the shape of pinecones, cookies, candles, moons, stars, suns, circles, triangles, spheres, dogs, angels, owls, doves of peace and leaves of life. And some have lasted a bit. And others just haven’t.

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