The lamp is suspended above the sole stairwell in this house by a cord of interlocking metal chains the color of the earth somewhere distant from this country of red clay and mud. A single strip of metal winds in and out of the chain in an undulating pattern; giving a false sense of fortification. The rest of the hanging lamp is comprised of thin strips of the same brown metal bent into ornate swirls connecting to the chain at a bell shaped hub. There are three of these swirls, each corresponding to one of the three light bulbs. The three bulbs are fashioned into a structure reminiscent of the flame from a candlestick, which is fitting because in the time of energy efficient LED bulbs, these lights themselves may one day become just as archaic. The form of the light fixture in its entirety causes one to call to mind the romantic vision of a string instrument such as a cello or a harp, or perhaps a less romantic vision of dirty water spurting from an old fashioned showerhead. It is beautiful in the sense that I have never thought to contemplate its beauty before. Though this house was a new construction only half a decade ago, the cobwebs that pop up between the bulbs faster than a feather duster can tear them apart makes it seem as though the light may have a history. They make it seem as though it were something to be found in a previously unexplored attic or an antique shop, which causes speculation regarding the future of this object. For it may very well end up in either of those locations after only far too few fickle decades. For it is undeniably as much a victim of the passage of time as any other aspect of this world. The metal will inevitably wear and the bulbs will lose their power to illuminate. Already, it has aged without a passing recognition from anyone living under it, and already it is slowly accumulating a history. It will continue to grow older as the minutes crawl on and the years fly by unremarked upon above the sole stairwell in this house.
