Day 108

Day 108:

Baubles. 

Suspended in the air,

frozen in place by a thin piece of fibre.

Dropping, like a snowflake,

that weighs down the sky.

Clouds sag and fly now,

tree branches bend and lean towards the carpet.

Needles.

Spinning and twirling and fluttering away,

embedding themselves in the floor.

Difficult to remove,

impossible to ignore.

They itch. 

A fake tree may still be weighed down,

branches separated by baubles too heavy for it.

And shortbread, and other various, impractical tree ornaments.

But at least, 

when the time comes to eat the shortbread,

plucked playfully by a child from the tree,

they won't get a mouthful of spiky pine leaves.