There’s not a peep of protest from the trees as they gear up for their last hurrah of this year. There’s no sorrow and no dragging of the feet. There are no frowns, no pouts, no temper tantrums. Instead, they’re throwing a party for our benefit. It’s a gala event, and we’re all invited. Dress is semi-formal and flashy, and do wear a new pair of shoes. We’ll be ushered into a fantastic ballroom with the loveliest art, and there we’ll all chat and eat and drink and dance under a festive moon.
There’s no sorrow here. You won’t find any tears. The trees are getting ready to say
goodbye. The leaves are all dying, and
while they die, they sing the most wonderful songs amid cool breezes and exotic
sunshine. They are glad we have come to
witness their demise. They are glad we
have come to celebrate their walk into oblivion. They have held a party in our honor, for our
enjoyment, and for their own glory.
And sometimes in life, that is all
there is, and that is enough. It has to
be.
 |
| Putting on the Ritz. |
