The Christmas tree is up and hung with lights and clear glass balls like soap bubbles and smaller balls in hues of gold, copper, and bronze. (And then, of course, the California Quail instead of a Partridge, next to the Venetian blown-glass bell.)
Christmas trees have always seemed not just festive but a comfort, a benign spirit keeping watch over the month and me. When I was little and afraid of noises in the night, I somehow knew I didn't have to worry when the Christmas tree was standing guard in the front room; I felt perfectly safe and happy in its care.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, A Quail in a Pine Tree
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