We usually leave our Christmas Tree up until the end of January. We can’t always get a real tree, but in the years we do it’s a slow battle with falling needles and my love for the scent of natural pine.

We watch as the moisture slowly leaches from branches despite regular watering. This tree was cut and its time has come.

Ironic that my love for a living thing pushed me to kill it.

It reminds me of that someone who was born long ago, just to die.

You might ask why I am writing about this now, Christmas is over, isn’t it? Our open celebration of it might be, but it is always a reminder and an arrow pointing to another tree cut long ago. We are in an in-between time, the perfect time to remember.

Copyright ©2023 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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