Today we cut the Christmas tree. A thin frosty rime still lay in the shadows of the house and barn. But armed with saw and gloves we climbed down the hill and brought it home, held shoulder high.
Today we cut the Christmas tree. The red-tailed hawk sat on his accustomed branch, unblinking, but yet approving our choice.
Today we cut the Christmas tree. It sits unadorned, waiting for lights and decoration. In the field it still was beautiful, just as it was.
Today we cut the Christmas tree. I plucked bronze oak leaves from its branches and sent them blowing in the easterly wind, down the hill and far away.
Today we cut the Christmas tree. A little burrow of some small creature lay exposed where once the cedar branches sheltered it. What will the dispossessed do now, out there with the snow and cold reaching into its home?
Today we cut the Christmas tree. It will stand guard by the door, lights shining out into the night. They can't compete with stars twinkling above. But they will welcome one and all to our hilltop.
Today we cut the Christmas tree. And after the festive season is done ,we will take it down and carry it, held shoulder high, down the hill where first it grew. And it will rest there with its brothers, telling stories of when it sat upon the hilltop and shone brightly for all the world to see.
Today we cut the Christmas tree.
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