I vacuum the living room and put back to rights furniture I had moved around to make room for the tree. Each inhale of the machine seems to suck up the chaos and clutter of the holiday.
The dust on my empty shelves smells like pine tree and incense.
The soft towel in my hand plows through, scattering the scent like ferry dust to color the air around me.
Boxing away memories is thirsty work.
I curl up on my big purple couch the salesmen called eggplant and sip my diet pop. My aching back pulses a soothing warmth that spreads down over my tailbone sliding liquidly into my feet.
I study the living room with a contented eye; it's sparkling emptiness a type of rebirth. The unadorned shelves speak of promises, they are full to bursting with "what If's" and for this moment there is no room for nick-knacks.
I chase away Christmas with my favorite scented candle and wrap myself up in dreams yet unfulfilled; chasing away ghosts with the bare bones of my home.
When a few days saunter past me and the spell of December wanes, I will unpack my treasured things and line them up on their shelves.
Each piece a separate story, waiting to be told. All the old will be new again, absence making them fond, and I will begin again, as another year moves on.
But for now I enjoy the quiet hush before the storm, the empty room a cradle just awaiting it's child. It is in moments like this that my soul exhales and smiles.
Beautifully written. Sadly, it reminds me I need to clean up myself.
Do you write for a living? You write very well.
I always dread putting up the decorations and taking them down. I left my table moved against the wall (to make room for the tree) the same for over a year. Guess thats called a procrastinator!
I'm a recovering single mother trying desperately to see humor in my day to day toil while simultaneously avoiding reality as much as humanly possible.