December Rains

I am in a muddle.  I haven't written anything in a few weeks, short of an email or quick facebook post, so here I sit in silence, on the weekend between Christmas and New Year's, with pen, notebook, tea, and dimly lit tree, knowing it will be coming down in a few days.

The idea, of taking the tree down, colors my thoughts with a melancholy blanket of blah.  This year has been a rainy December.  There is much winter to go, and I am hoping for a clean, white slate soon, and even though I know I have had a good month with my family, I can't help but feel dissatisfied with the winter rains that have drowned the sleeping landscape in a puddle of gray.

I dread taking down the tree.  I know it will feel good in the long run.  I have left the tree well into January before, and regretted my procrastination as it became a grim, looming thing while the days passed and the dread of sorting ornaments weighed heavier and heavier.  "I won't do that again" I think to myself.

As I sit, curled into the cushion of the overstuffed chair, mind continuing it's wander, I recall my husband's grandmother's words, "In January, the cold gets stronger, and the light gets longer."  I catch a glimpse, in my imagination, of a January day when I suddenly notice, (as if it was actually sudden and not a very gradual thing) that the sun is rising a bit further North, climbing higher in the sky, and shining into the later afternoon hours.  I can see it clearly for a second, even feel the sun on my skin if I let my mind relax. . .breath just right. . . or concentrate just enough. . . then the image is gone.  Did I really feel it?  Just as swiftly as the image appears, it fleets away leaving me settled, once again, by the old Christmas tree as the December rain begins to fall in heavy, steady, drops on the metal roof overhead.