The Christmas lights reflected in the windows. It was late February and they still hung on a small tree turned brown. Colors were brilliant; red, green, yellow, blue, large bulbs wrapped around the once full symbol. Cats played with the strung popcorn.

He thought about taking the tree down. Everyday he woke up he thought about it. But, he knew, once he dragged it out to the street Christmas would be over. The old man wanted to hang on to Christ’s birthday a little longer.

It had been three years since the passing of his wife on Christmas day. She died in the house they had shared for fifty years. Right there on the couch. She just leaned over and fell asleep. A long lasting sleep of peace. He prayed and then covered her with a favorite throw.

She loved Christmas. He Vowed to never let it end. Gifts remained unopened, her hot chocolate sat cold. And he no longer looked at a calendar. Time just stopped for him. Therefore, every morning when awakened, he’d turn to where she sat and whispered, Merry Christmas. And the tree would shine brighter.