Webstrings: Remy van Kesteren on life & harp
Christmas tree
It’s not her day. For the whole day she sits on the sofa, in one of my baggy sweaters, grieving over the disappearance of the Christmas tree. She has attempted to postpone the sad goodbye, for she is a devoted supporter of the Christmas spirit. But now, as the tree is put outside, far beyond its expiration date and sighing his last bit of life away, she sobs and mourns over happy memories, trying to grab hold of something new to look forward to. ‘Next year,’ she says, ‘I want a bigger one!’