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There’s a misty drizzle turning the dried winter scum on my truck into a gross gray slime. I might say it’s unseasonably warm for January, but in this corner of the North Coast, there is no unseasonable. We had snow and ice. One day we even had sunshine. Now we have slush and rain.
But today is not a day for sunshine. Today is a day of mourning.
I put Christmas to rest today. I peeled the last of the clear lights from the three birch trees in the front yard, and stuffed them in the attic. All the gifts are no longer gifts, simply possessions. And my Christmas CDs, which I listen to surreptitiously long after December 25th, have been buried on the back of the shelf.
But it’s my soul that closed the door on Christmas today, I think. Because what I really love about Christmas is the mood, the spirit. All the lights, decorations, music, gifts, are simply enhancements to the heart of the season; the sense that during this time it’s okay to care about others, to love and to give. Joy rules.
Until today.
Today I walked by the guy playing guitar on the street without a nod. Why?
Why not? Did I ask him to sit in my path and play his guitar? No. Do I like the mushy folksy stuff he’s playing? No.
Would I have ignored him a month ago? No. In December I would have dropped something into his case. Smiled at him, told him it sounds good. Not today.
Today I put Christmas to rest. Today I mourn.
* The mood is fact. The events are fiction.
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2 comments:
I know exactly what you mean. The I removed all the ornaments from the tree was a sad one. I saved the wreath on the door for later—just took it down yesterday, in fact.
I wish I lived in a town where people played the guitar on the street. A town troubadour would be nice.
I keep a little something in at least one room to remind me of this "Christmas Spirit". Sometimes it's only the feeling in my soul.
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