Every year they come—the little boy and girl. So deceiving with their frost-kissed rosy cheeks and shining innocent eyes, yet hunters none-the-less.
The tassels on the end of her stocking cap bob from side-to-side with each step. The man sized saw clutched tight in his gloved hand drags the ground.
I watch them duck under the barbed wire fence and shudder. Not from fear. But from excitement. Please let this be my year to shine.
“Here I am,” I call out into the wind ripe with the scent of wet snow. “Pick me! Pick me!”
She stops. Turns. His gaze follows her. I dare not breathe.
“It’s perfect.”
Ah, how I’ve dreamed of those two little words!
With love and laughter they adorn me with garments of tinsel and glass.
Gold ornaments here. Silver icicles there. Bright lights everywhere.
“Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree of all the tress most lovely”
I stand at the window and beam my pride into the night so dark and crystal clear.
God, how I love this time of year!
I love this, Dixie! It reminds me of all the times I've walked through tree lots and heard all the trees saying "pick me," because they didn't want to be left behind after Christmas. :)
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