They replaced the warm orange street lamps on my mum’s street with a cold harsh light instead.
Like a flood light.
So bright and painful on the eyes, unlike that gentle warm orange glow we had before. Just surreal enough to transform the ugly dirtiness of it into something magical, illuminating warmly through the leaves of the solitary tree in the middle.
Now, it’s bright and industrial, like iron and concrete.
Lighting really does make all the difference.
In the night time, when I am back in my old bed, I struggle to sleep because my room is so bright and white. Even when the curtains are drawn.
I stick my head out of the skylight and try to make it magical again. The only way I can do this is if I look out into the distance where I can see the twinkling glow of the city under a purple night sky, just above the bright lights over the street.
The cold white light is strong enough to penetrate my picture, but one can always dream.
Why do they always have to industrialise things.
I blame that Cameron. (>.>)