A Night the City Sparkled

Last night, we followed an invitation the city quietly offered.

The metro is running free on weekends for December and January, and it felt like the perfect excuse to head into Melbourne and let Christmas meet us where it lives loudest — among lights, people, and moving trains.

We took the train in. An hour of smooth, gliding travel — my favourite way to move through the world. There is something about trains that feels both purposeful and restful, like being carried without needing to hold the map too tightly.

For Juniper and Fern, it felt like a first time all over again. Eyes wide. Bodies alert. The simple wonder of movement and arrival.

We stepped into the city, paused, regrouped, made a gentle plan in case one of us was swallowed by the crowds — and then headed straight for the big Christmas tree in Christmas Square.

We sat on the grassy slope and watched it come alive.

Colours shifting. Lights blooming and fading. A whole quiet performance of loveliness unfolding above us. We munched croissants, people‑watched, and let the moment linger longer than necessary.

The night was cool and fresh. We wandered. Up Graffiti Road, where walls speak in colour and defiance. Down Degraves Street, thick with coffee smells and laneway life. Then on to the river for the Crown Christmas River Show — more about atmosphere than spectacle, but lovely all the same.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped to share a drink and a few treats.

A small girl came and sat right beside Juniper, utterly taken with him. She kept glancing at me with wide, earnest eyes, then back at him, as though checking if this small moment of connection was allowed. She had a bubble wand, and soon bubbles were floating everywhere — catching the lights, brushing past our hands, briefly perfect before disappearing.

It felt like Christmas does sometimes: Unplanned. Tender. Slightly absurd in its sweetness.

We strolled along the river, then crossed the bridge back toward Flinders Street Station. The train home was busy at first, then slowly emptied until we found seats together — all four of us — tired, full, and content.

We arrived home late.
Happy‑tired. City‑sparkled. Carrying that particular joy that comes from shared experiences — not grand, not flawless, but deeply ours.

It was a lovely night out together.

And as we turned out the lights and let sleep take over, we found ourselves already looking forward to the next small adventure — whenever it might come.