I’ve been too shy to go to the Christmas tree shop that established itself on the corner. Every night a truck comes with more fir trees, stacked one on top of the other. The two men working the shop quickly unload the trees, somehow holding on to the large cumbersome things with gloved hands. On the weekends the pavement crowds with families, children running back and forth to lay claim to the best one. Only last week I saw two little girls square off in what promised to be a pretty spectacular showdown over a lovely, bushy pine. Unfortunately their parents intervened before the battle royale commenced. My money was on the girl with the plaits.
So Wednesday I crossed the street to take a wee picture. Then a picture with zoom:
Then worked up the courage to go over to the shop and breathe in the pine-y smell of Christmas and touch the prickly boughs.
Then the gentleman came over to me and said in a booming voice “How can I help you, darling?” to which I said quietly “Oh, I’m just looking. Just enjoying.”
To which he said to me, in a quieter tone, “Enjoy all you want, darling” and walked off to help another customer with his five foot tree.