Christmas trees trace the arc of your life.
When we were younger and our kids were younger we made an annual trip to Vermont to buy a Christmas tree from Carol's brother Sarge.
Huge fucking trees. I'm talking 9, 10, 11 feet with a trunk so thick I needed plastic explosive to blow off enough to fit into the stand.
Eventually gave up on that and all that sap and got a fake tree. Pretty nice and still pretty big but not as big as the Sarge monsters.
Kids are gone, we are alone and older still. Now we have a tiny tree, maybe two feet tall, that we sit on a table. Takes 3 minutes and 44 seconds to erect and decorate.
In a few more years I imagine Carol and I will just walk out into the yard and grab a twig. Bring it inside, sit it on top of the TV and admire its simple beauty.
And so it goes.