Sometimes I can’t see the forest for the Christmas trees.

“Pick one. Only one. Go on out there. Take an uber sleigh to a farm. Hop out, hatchet in one hand, and your other hand clasping a loved one. Trudge though the powdered sugar snow and drag one out.”

“It’s too late. It’s Christmas morning.”

“Perfect.”

“Ain’t nobody got time for that. The kids are coming at noon. Besides, we have our fake skinny tree in the corner.”

“Good grief.”

“Oh, okay, but baby its cold outside.”

I pulled Barbara out of bed and shared with her the chat I had with Charlie Brown. We walked across the street and threaded into the forest, woods where the deer, turkeys, and squirrels disappear like entering Narnia. We navigated under the power lines, stepping high through the dense brush.

The winter chill melted away as we kept on, seeing each breath form like a caption. Then, through the barren branches we saw it. A solitary blue spruce. Short. Neat. Well proportioned. I stepped closer.

“Jerry, no. Let’s leave it.” She came close and held my hand. We knelt and gave thanks, then sang a carol and headed back.