''...look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,''
from e e cummings the little tree
Yes, every year the spangles emerge from the dusty closets, from under the bed....
They are little friends, welcomed fondly, discussed, displayed, cherished---their histories and stories lovingly recounted, again and again....
These from my very first years in New York...
...these from when my tree had to be childproof and puppy proof:
These are from a trip to South Street Seaport...over the Brooklyn Bridge! On rollerblades!
Flea market finds...
Gifts from friends...
and newly cherished blown glass beauties, so fragile and intricate!...
Memories....
And our beloved animated lighthouse tree topper, purchased one icy winter day in Greenwich Village, when my kids were very small...
love
lizzy
****gone to the beach****
Full text of this charming poem, here: the little tree
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