Took the tree out today. Cold, but nice dry ground. Of course, it was that way last horrid winter, too.
Always find a tiny stash or two of escaped pine needles during the summer months. I have a distinct feeling when I come across these, but I don’t know quite what it is. It’s not nostalgia, and I don’t have memory flashes of the past holidays.
Perhaps it’s a sense of time passing, increased awareness of change. Bit like discovering a leaf pressed in a book.
Anyway, I sweep them up and the distinct feeling vanishes.