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?