This morning my dear husband brought our tree in from the garage to defrost. Decorating will happen on Christmas Eve, but meanwhile it stands ready and waiting. I came downstairs to the wonderful fragrance of balsam and felt filled, actually, with awe.
Living in the north of North America has given me a new appreciation of conifers. In South Africa, pine trees are not indigenous -- with the possible exception of umbrella pines. Pine trees are grown commercially and what we bought as Christmas trees were branches cut off from the tree. Pretty straggly they were, too.
But here I live with the spectrum of firs and pines and admire their beauty all year round, the branches stretched outward, or heavenward, or dipping in reverence to the earth. Bringing the tree in is a much larger event than it was in southern climes. I know the shape has been trimmed, the tree manipulated to be pleasing and to meet our expectations. Nevertheless, our Christmas tree, even without ornament, is surely a thing of beauty and will bring us much joy over the coming holy days and nights.
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