We took down our tree early. There’s never been a year I can wait very long.
There are all kinds of ways people do Christmas trees: small, big, bushy, skinny, no tree, living tree.
For me, a tree is a marker of the all the celebrations bundled up at year’s end: Thanksgiving, Solstice, Christmas, New Years.
I love the tree: I find it magical. Those twinkly lights and green help get us through all of winter’s dark.
Yet even though I would like to be the kind of person who can keep the tree up all the way through New Year’s, I can’t.
I get antsy. I’m ready to move on. I’ve had my fill of holidays… the bleak, pale possibilities of the New Year beckon.
We took the tree down in just a few minutes this year, dragged it outside to where it will go back to the earth very soon.
The room, once magical and festive, settled back into its regular sparseness with a sign of relief.
With the tree gone, we suddenly notice the barren branches outside, the greyness of the sky, the lichen on the trees. We find ourselves in the middle of winter, and we return again to our long hibernation.
The tree was put up. The tree was taken down. The twinkly lights and ornaments are stored away for another year.
It is very still, and we are waiting. Here in the stark, cold beauty of January, we are waiting for what is next to come.
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