This morning, the town picked up the Christmas tree I had curbed last night. I sat in the window watching the workers ceremoniously grab, like pallbearers, either end of the withering brown casket. Once lush and green, adorned and bristling with life, it now felt brittle and prickly.
I must admit I got a little misty.
The water welling in my eyes never trickled beyond the dam of my lids, but the possibility existed. My tears were, of course, not about the tree. I can’t (yet) tell you exactly what triggered this emotion.
Some symbolic gesture that struck a chord within.
All I know is the image stuck with me. And the moment — though not completely—was hard to bear.
A Happy Memory for an Otherwise Somber Birthday
Today would have been my father's 84th birthday. He passed away 2 years ago. There's a larger post in me somewhere…