Remains of Christmas

I smelled Christmas tree at the park this morning.
It came to me almost at the end of my first lap on the running track.  I looked around but couldn't see the source of it.  So I got off the track and walked over to where the smell was possibly coming from - a small enclosed garden trimmed with several benches facing it.

I saw newly shredded wood chips - remains of dead Christmas trees, scattered on bare dark soil.  It was nice to see the dead contributing something physically to the future, other than make rooms for the rising generation.

I remember the last real Christmas we had with a tree.  I remember finding the tree, which D and his Mom had bought, standing by the window when I came home from work.   Both D and Mom were smiling at me by that beautiful tree -- all three of them (the two people and the tree) somehow looked astonishingly dignified.

Later we decorated the tree with our sort of funky ornaments, many of them we had made ourselves.  We also had an Advent calendar that D got at the Met, which he let me open each little window every day.