Christmas tree hunting.

In the dark.

Under the bright lights.

And the falling snow.

Shivering and stomping in the cold.

Blowing on our frozen fingers.

Trying to find just the right one.

Not too big.

Not too full.

Not too crocked.

Finally deciding because it's just too frigid to be picky.

Getting it home.

Putting it up.

Realizing it's the best one yet.

But then again, it always is.

Every single year.