This is a bit of a strange thing, about something that shouldn’t matter. The council are replacing the lampposts around where I live. I can hardly blame them for this—the existing poles are aged and the new lights brighter and more efficient (though I will miss the more elegant curves of the columns the next street over). But the pole in the picture is our lamppost. It’s on the way from my flat into Croydon. Jan and I would walk past it and, often, I would hook my arm around it and swing her round, laughing. It remains as a memory of that, what my pixie will always be to me, laughter and fun.
A little after Jan was gone the street lights in the area had a power failure. When they repaired it they must have messed up the switching for that lamp has been constantly on, as if burning in memory. Soon it too will go, another little light from the world. Another little memory a little more faded. And it makes me sadder than replacing a street light should.