I studied my Christmas tree, not comprehending what was wrong with it. Something was off.

I circumnavigated it like a fretful boat on a sea that was too calm—as if expecting a kraken to suddenly breach its briny surface.

Everything was there. Shiny garlands. Christmas balls. Even a ruby star on top! So… what gave?

Then I looked at the wall. My calendar read May 23rd. I considered this… and took the calendar down.

I adjusted one of the balls then got on with my day. Who cared about dates when I was in a perfect New Year’s mood?