Christmas trees have a quiet consciousness, even in death. I am always sad when we take down the tree—it feels lonely for the tree, stripped of its jewels and tossed away. Here at least we can toss it into the wetlands out back so it can be a place for birds and squirrels and whoever else makes use of it while it decays into the earth.
The night before we take it down, I always sit vigil for a while with the tree. And I leave the lights on all night so it can have one last blast of glory before it goes dark.
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