Festive Futility

We start with strands of colored lights,

then hang the glass ball ornaments,

rose gold and teal orbs

on thin wiry hooks,

featherweight

and fragile

Cross-stitched tin solders and snowflakes,

along with satin parasols

that mom made by hand

three decades ago,

candy canes,

icicles,

A lace garland to finish off.

We sit and admire our hard work,

inhaling the scent

of fresh cut blue spruce,

it’s lovely,

it’s dying.

Try as we might, we can’t stop time,

the cycle of seasons spins on,

pine needles will fall,

the years will slip by,

you’ll grow old,

so will I.

What’s the point of festivity?

Blurry snapshots and memories?

Without faith and hope

it’s futility,

just a tree,

but it’s more!

We celebrate a source of life

even greater than evergreens,

a far brighter light,

the grand gift given

on that one

Holy Night!