December turned to January 4, turned to January 16, turned to January 17, and now here we are. It wasn’t as if I was dreading the task, perhaps it was an attempt to hold on to some colour — a contrast from the lifeless brown and grey outdoors.
Finally, I accepted that the sun had long ago set on the holidays. The light was unplugged; ‘round and ‘round it came undone; and back to its box for another eleven months.
One by one, the decorations were put away: the buck and its fawn, and their wooden nutcracker friends.
Each ornament carefully removed and replaced in their original boxes leaving glitter to be wiped up everywhere.
Something had to stick around though, even in their dried state - dead branches with shrivelled red berries.
And until December, fresh flowers will occupy the spot where the conifer glowed, for the moment masking our dreadful bare winter.