I adore Christmas decorations, and therefore own far too many of them. But each ornament and figurine, toy and trinket has it’s own story. Each represents a memory or wish, a moment or emotion. They sparkle and spin on the tree. They march across shelves and perch on the mantel. For a single season, the house sprouts a glorious clutter of nostalgia and peace.
Next week, I’ll spend a quiet day packing it all into boxes and stacking it in the attic for another year, and the house will resume its usual routine. My memories, wishes, moments, and emotions will scatter, untethered, into the nebulous ether of experience.