Winter Solstice. At the darkest hour of the year, the light of day hesitates in its free-fall and positions itself for a slow return. Alyssa and Aaron cut a Christmas tree out back. A spruce tree instead of a native pine. The spruce grow rampant there. The deer won’t eat its needles though they’ll clip my struggling pines when hungry. Despite the wildcat ways of spruce, Alyssa remembered to say aloud the “Thanks” I taught our kids when they were very young– thank you to a spruce tree for the beauty that it brought to our acres, for the beauty it would lend as a decorated being.
So some wise ass had to “trim” the tree as it waited on the porch. Who was it? Couldn’t have been my son, Brent, who wasn’t home yet for Christmas. It was probably some pagan frog. Dreaming in the muds of Paradise somewhere. Of fishes caught and fishes lost and fish that come to haunt you in the end… Of course.
Happy trails throughout the holidays, with health and peace for the new year!