Christmas died for me
the day our tree toppled over.
Erin and I had lugged
the decorations from the basement
and were hard at work
turning our living room
into a magical fairyland.
I was holding Erin up
so she could place the angel
on the top when she leaned
too far, grabbed the branches
to steady herself, couldn't stop,
and all three of us landed in a heap
of broken ornaments and fir needles.
After making sure she was okay,
we started over again but it was
just a performance. My Christmas
spirit became slighter and slighter
and by the time Erin hung the last
ornament, it had vanished altogether.
I swept it up along with the debris
and dropped it into the trash.
7 comments:
How fragile can be the joyful moments of this life. You tell the story beautifully. I hope your spirits are back up now!
Linda I am sure that was disappointing. I like how you told this. Happy holidays to you.
Pamela
You wrote beautiful poetry out of that. So the spirit holds...
dead woman and her wants
So sorry this happened... you recaptured the moment well.
You and I seem to have been on the same wavelength this week. What a coincidence!
~Laurie
So good to read your words. Disasters are meorable!
Darn. I hate when that happens. I came home one night to find my tree fallen as comfortably as if it had never stood. Carpet and few ornaments kept that from being a spirit sweeper. Nicely written piece, Linda!
why so sad? (it is very well done, but why so sad?)
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