Wednesday, December 18, 2013

The Tree

There’s a tree in my house and I will fill it with great ideas and love and dreams.

Inside my jacket pocket is sand I scooped up from the last walk on the beach. 

I pick up a few grains and blow on them slowly, carefully, with patience; with my breath until it turns into a little glass ball, the first one is red and it just floats on the palm of my hands turning while I give it all the love from the last year. I hold it up to the light, in the reflection of the red glass, are hugs and kisses and laughter and dancing.

I pick up a few more grains of sand and rub them in my hands, my hands are cold but I still want to make a white one for my dreams. A glass ball begins to take shape and inside is me and the dreams that came true this year dance like a music box. The crinkle of the glass is like music.

Then I feel a darkness take over me, there is a lot of it and I have to refrain from making a huge black glass ball with all the anger I ve experienced  throughout the year. I keep the glass ball small but the sand whorls like a tornado, the reflection, ghosts of things that have hurt me over the last year. Events I thought Id forgotten come back and shake for me, pull from my heart.

I put them on the tree and remember the balance of the year the good the bad and the dreams.

And I have three more decorations for the tree.

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