i have been topping trees with stars and i have dangled a few from the ceiling.
if it's pretty it must be christmas.
i have tons of little christmas trees, more than i ever remember, in fact, all wrapped in black bags and tucked away, hidden, going invisible the rest of the year, always a surprise when i begin to unwrap them. i can't even tell you what i was looking for this season - nothing specific, just some inspiration i think, for christmas at work. the emma tree is gone, nowhere to hang bulbs and lights unless i buy a real tree, and i save that for home, so i was looking for a hint, for a sign that said this way, for help, for magic. i unwrapped trees and laughed and oohed and ahhed, and said yes, i remember you, and i stood them on my work table in the front room, not thinking, just doing, and when at last i turned around, i found a village of trees scattered across the surface. and like that, yes, just like that, i was a child again in my grandmother's house, building doll rooms from whatever she had to hand; an opened wallet for a couch, matchboxes for coffee tables. i never owned the "store bought" doll furniture, and i never minded - i loved making my own, deciding what this looked like and what it could become.
and so the christmas trees. i stacked, i rearranged, i drizzled warm silver garland through their midst. boxes wrapped in white paper became snowy hills. i found stars and bluebirds and nestled them among the lights and branches. i rolled a few clementines against their bottoms and tossed them silvered pinecones. i played. and then there it was. the best christmas village ever, built of stuff gathered over the years of my life, nothing matching, everything perfect. i was that little girl clapping her hands together.
and the best part?
that flurry of blue in the picture above.
i have no idea what that is.
the wings of a christmas angel, i'm thinking.