THE DECISION | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: THE DECISION | Previous Challenge Entry
By C.L. Holcomb
10/14/08
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THE DECISION

I walked carefully along the graveled path that followed the rows of sturdy upright trees in the broad field. The scent of pine was delicious, tantalizing, a heady aroma mixed with the salty brine of the docile sea that lay opposite the field. I sniffed deeply to breathe more of it into my senses. For a change, the sky was a happy blue with streaks of wispy cloud painted here and there instead of the usual gray with frowning gloomy rain clouds promising more of what they had already given.
The blue spruce trees had always been my favorite with their thick needles and artfully spaced limbs. They were the elite of the Christmas trees, the ones chosen to dangle nostalgic bits of glass or wooden ornaments from their branches. They were also the most expensive. To have such a tree displayed in your home, the taller the better, was to have a magnificent tree indeed.
The fir trees were fluffy, heavily endowed with deep-green needles growing from a multitude of more flexible branches. They embodied the forest, lush and inviting, offering wealth and security for the creatures that hid or scampered inside, away from knowing eyes. These trees were far more affordable but filled a corner of a home with inviting pleasure, a delight for Christmas memories. Garlands of cranberry and popcorn, twinkling lights, perhaps some tinsel strewn among the fanciful ornaments would decorate these beautiful trees.
Slowly I studied the trees, checking the prices and eyeing the balance of each. I was drawn to the tall spruce; I was entranced by the short round fir. All of the trees were lovely to me. If one had a gaping flaw, I knew I could hide it by placing that part against the wall of our living room. Still, as I hunted from perfection to acceptable, I did not find what I truly wanted.
On the verge of giving up, I was struck by the sight of the tiniest tree there, one I had almost overlooked. It stood bravely, surrounded by the assembly of beautiful cut trees, stark in its need and distress. Its branches were uneven, some needles lost, a few brown and unsightly. But this little tree was still alive; it was planted and struggling to survive inside a pot wrapped with festive red foil.
The little tree reminded me of myself somehow. Surrounded by the glitz and the glamour, the sparkle and array of commercial Christmas, tantalized by expensive wares, the hustle and bustle of happy or grumpy shoppers, the delight and hope of children whispering into Santa’s ear, the carols and holiday songs repeated constantly throughout every shop since the middle of November, I struggled to endure, to savor, to remember the joyful tidings of the season, all my own treasured memories.
I was a little older; hints of gray touched my hair; a few more wrinkles lined my face; my heart ached in places I did not understand. I saw the homeless on the street; I read the articles about genocide, starvation, the orphaned, the murdered, the completely lost, those forsaken in other parts of the world. The earth sang with laughter and beauty, and destruction wove its threads through every part of it.
I was blessed among millions who were seemingly not. I made mistakes and bore scars, both outside and in my spirit. I still reached for the sky and struggled to grow, to encompass all that life offered, both good and heartrendingly bad.
Of all the trees that cold bright winter day, I loved that little tiny one the best. It needed love and tender care just like every person I had ever known or never would.
The decision was final. It was our Christmas tree.

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