Friday, January 2, 2009
"The real voyage of discovery consists of not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes."
Our Christmas tree is enchanting: brilliant blooms of rainbow light, and here and there a suspended memento of old times, in the shape of a ceramic snowman or a glass reindeer.
I have, however, paid endless homage to the tree since its recent retrieval from the cupboard, seeing it as I do for weeks on end. Each year its sparkle and glow seems to fade into the background, its very appearance becoming almost commonplace after a while, and this season was no exception.
That would not do at all, I suddenly said to myself the other day; so I fetched my heavy jacket, stepped outside, crunched through the unbroken snow to the back porch, and looked into my own kitchen as a sort of very unusual passer-by.
It worked wonders. I viewed the tree from afar, as a cold, colour-starved outsider in a drab December scene.
I was drawn to admire its decorative qualities and fine attire of baubles and tinsel, and was thoroughly struck by how much I should like to have such a tree, by the fact that it was my very own and by the regrettable truth that in recent days I had hardly paused to glance at it.
I highly recommend the passer-by method of seeing one's own life; but in such snow-shrouded times a thick layer of clothing is advised.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 1:05 PM