As a child I wished every day was like Christmas.
Enchanted by the magic of tinsel and toys, it was always my favorite time of year, and the tree served as a joyful focal point: I never tired of gazing at it. A nightly ritual at my house was lighting the tree–well, plugging it in. I’d then spend a good ten minutes–an eternity for a kid–marveling at what my family and I had decorated. The holidays were never completely perfect, but, as far as I was concerned, the tree could do no wrong.
While I’m older now and have a much less idealized view of the season in general, I feel fortunate that my boyhood wish has mostly come true. Life has its ups and downs, but I try to make the most of them. I’m not completely broke. I’m not starving. I still find time for some art.
Every day gives a gift. Even if it’s small, I try to always be thankful.
And I still practice my mini-evergreen meditations. Here’s a little poem commemorating the evolution of Christmas in my life. It’s not much, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
Today’s plastic tree:
of great joy glow
from its adornment,
but the sap of electrons
flow vital through
able, outstretched limbs
giving ordinary light.