The Last Remnants

My family's rather sentimental about Christmas. By the middle of November, holiday melodies are the only songs heard in our house, and even though the only children around are in their twenties, Santa Claus still pays a visit.

This affinity for the season also makes us clingy; the idea of abandoning the holiday in December is downright unfathomable. But in spite of our reluctance to relinquish it, Christmas has a way of just seeping out of the house. This weekend it became apparent the stopper had been pulled.

First, my sestra left back for school in London. Her presence had meant Christmas could still reasonably be referred to in the the present tense. This departure signified that the holidays were truly past us.

And second, our lovely Noble Fir was expelled from our living room. It was packed up and taken to the backyard, mostly because its parched needles were about two weeks past the point of being kindling.

The Tannenbaum's disassembly was swift; stripped of its trappings quicker, and without the care taken during its adornment.

The trimmings themselves were sequestered. Lights coiled and readied for storage. Little Czech ornaments nestled in their tissue beds. And finally the angel, removed from her position of honor and placed in a cardboard box.

All awaiting a journey to the basement for ten months of hibernation. Where in a restorative sleep they can dream of their true purpose to evoke tradition and delight. Till next year.

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