"Festive Season"

I walk through the urban streets; I wander along the corridors which pump out urban being.  They are filled with signs of celebration.  Stars with lights confront my descent to the "lower ground".  Cut-out plywood trees with baubles brush my passage from her to there.  Lights bedeck the railings that stop me falling into the well of goings up and down.

What, I wonder, is being celebrated?
Why is it festive?
Of course at one level it is merely yet another deception perpetrated by the great commercial machine.  But is there another level?  Is there anything worth celebrating?  Is there joy?