“Nice tree,” said my neighbor, dropping off (bless her) a plate of cookies.
“Not very Christmas-y, though,” she added.
Well, no. It's a Yule tree.
That's why it's filled with Suns.
And fruits, and vegetables: all the abundance of the year gone by, and the growing season to come.
Every ornament's a prayer.
There it stands in the south, just where it always stands. Same place, same lights, same ornaments, giving the odd sense that somehow it's the same tree, back again from the forest for its annual month-long visit.
In a sense, I suppose, it is the same tree. The Tree is dead: long live the Tree.