the light.

For the past ten minutes my eyes have been glued on a distant street lamp that keeps flickering on and off.  I'm in my office, looking down from a high vantage point at the city beneath me, and of all the thousands of flickering lights I see below -- this one has managed to catch my eye and captivate. 

It's sporadic.  The light goes on, then off, for a few minutes, seconds, at a time.  On occasion it spurts back on with quick successions of effort, like an epileptic attack, like a resuscitated heart.  I hear a faint buzzing noise.  I wonder if the bulb is dying, if there is a short circuit somewhere, but mostly, I wonder if this one dear street lamp is simply a fighter, unwilling to give up even when the circumstances suggest that come tomorrow night, this interesting exchange of darkness and lightness will be no more.

It's silly, I know, but I find myself rooting for this street lamp.  I want it to keep shining.  The part of the street that has been darkened by its failure bothers me -- it's as if there's a little less hope in the air.  So please, little guy, keep beaming, figure out a way.  I'll check back with you tomorrow night.  Don't let me down.