Our Christmas tree lives all the year around amid the life of the garden chatter, amid the birds - in wind, rain and sun.
How we adorn the tree, as if we lost faith in its beauty and so cover it in ribbons and gold, trinkets and glitter. As I remove them one by one, I take in the odour of the pine leaves, still soft on this living tree... I think of replanting her in the garden where she belongs. And as the pile of manmade things grow at my feet, she is revealed and perfect. In all my days I will never see anything more beautiful than this tree, her branches chaotic and orderly, reaching for sunlight.
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