It's almost Christmas. I remember looking up under our Christmas tree with the fat bulbs, some blinking, one a distinct blue-older looking. It annoyed me but it brought back a sense of familiar and ordinary to security. The whole thing was magic. The smell of pine, my eyes and face not too far from the sometimes older and more rusted tree stand with just enough confident water that I could almost see the tree drinking it right before my eyes. I would come back the next day or maybe hours and see how thirsty it was, the water had gone down so much. I would worry, but Dad would assure me, and he did fill it. Christmas music played and my mother reassuringly occupied the kitchen.
Happy Holidays ahead!!
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