Another holiday season gone by. My 13th in Florida.
With a heavy heart, I plucked the gold ribbons and glittery pinecones from our artificial pine tree. Dragging my feet, I gathered the Santa Claus figurines from the various tables and bookshelves in the house. I didn’t forget to pick up the two I put on the kitchen window.
As I removed the felt “Welcome” that hung on our front door, I heaved a sigh of sadness. The house will be itself again. No glitter, no colorful blinking lights, no jingle bells. The festive holidays are over.
It’s silly, really — that I feel sad while taking down Christmas decor. Because in just twelve short months, I’ll be excited once again to open up the holiday bins and choose what pieces to display to celebrate the season.
Maybe what makes me sad is how short these holiday seasons are, how little time we have to share the joys, appreciate the food and festivities, and let the Santa Clauses liven up every corner of the house.
I couldn’t wallow in melancholia, though. After the reusable tree was tucked back into its carton and the garden lights wound and stored, after the star parol was carefully boxed and the miniature village delicately bubble-wrapped, I walked around the house and said to myself that tomorrow is another day. And tomorrow, and tomorrow. And then it will be Christmas again.