Family Tree No lights on the tree; we thought we would try it, the tangle and tumble a trial we hoped we might avoid. But a dark tree does not hold the promise of a lighted one, even while pretty parcels, strewn in colorful abandon attend their usual position under softly spreading boughs. So I search closets to find some lamps that I might shine on this fine fir, cut on our land, by our own hand, to give it the attention it deserves. And in the process, rummage memories, packaged tight away. Some good, some not. I find, not what I seek, but a snarl of light to illuminate a knotted past, long buried among boxes no wise man would offer. Not Marley’s ghost, but all the same, the chains that bind do not unshackle easily. And despite the pain, love remains, a dust of shimmer on an old dark tree. © Cynthia Neely
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