There's a huge pine tree out in the backyard. It dominates the area, and looks to be as large as the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, although I know that isn't possible. They use a Norwegian pine, after all; an initial gift of goodwill from one government to the next. Still, our tree is large, and I can barely see the top. It's lower limbs are twisted just enough to tempt smaller limbs onto them. But this tree is a bit too spiky and ornery from climbing.
We stood outside in the snow and the cold, chatting, and you excitedly looked at the tree and declared you'd string lights all over it, creating a sparkling source of wonder. And perhaps a little of New York City too. In the backyard. You said it reminded you of The Tree, and if there was any way you could cover it in lights you would. Your face shone as if glowing by these lights and I laughed, emboldened by a few cocktails, and I ran circles in the backyard in the fresh snow. A pioneer, landing on the moon. Walking on the moon. But my prints would be erased and pine needles would fall into them sooner, rather than later. Smaller footprints would obliterate any patterns that I created, whilst also trying to follow in my oversized - to them - footsteps. You were determined to put lights on that tree, and your mind was working as to how, what colors and when.
The evenings are growing lighter, and the pine tree is silhouetted by the grey sky for just a bit longer each evening now. Sometimes, the sunset kisses the top branches and adds an orange glow, not unlike the lights you already described and envisioned. I am waiting for the days when its warm, sunny, and the tree casts a welcome shadow, standing tall and tired in the heat. But that moment doesn't exist, so I relish its soft greenery against the grey of late winter, and enjoy the minute or so more of daylight each day.
I went to take the trash out on an unseasonably warm night. The tree swayed and buckled in the wind. The air was silent and warm. Raindrops had ceased falling for the day, and the tree stood large and damp, its upper branches whispering loudly in the wind, that was simultaneously slamming the front windows and howling around the house. All I heard was the violent rustling, all I saw were the branches swaying, and I leaned up against the brick and watched and listened and watched. Eventually it started to rain again and chilled, I went back inside, imagining the glow of a thousand lights behind me.