Tomorrow is January 6, and for those of a religious bent, the word epiphany has an entirely different connotation. But here, it means taking down the tree, of fond memories of a fir that graced our living room, replete with twinkling lights and shiny baubles.
Here in the evening, I gaze at the Christmas tree, marveling at its resplendence, astounded that such a tree could last so long, cut from its mooring somewhere far north of here.
It has lasted, since November 28th, and tomorrow the trinkets and pearls come down, to be placed within a dark box, until next fall.
Some ornaments quake in the heat emitted from our ancient radiators, there pendulum-like swing mesmerizing with every arc. Reflections abound upon the varied and faceted bibelots that hang majestically upon the needles, and a sense of melancholia never fails to visit, knowing that such magnificence will soon be no more.
The tree, tomorrow, will be relegated to the outdoors, banished to winter’s incessant grip, and yet even in such brutal and brumal conditions will it provide a haven to sundry birds who brave these frigid months.
For now, though, will I sit quiet and allow my eyes to roam upon the tree’s surface, to once again experience the childhood wonder of a tree so bejeweled.
Sweet memories of Christmas past shall linger still.
Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2012, All Rights Reserved.