The Spirit of Christmas
There are strange things in the trees here in Burgundy. Strange roundish blobs. They can look quite creepy, silhouetted against the sky. Birds’ nests? No, they don’t look quite right and they’re not in the right places on the trees.
Sometimes they are just on one tree, sometimes on a whole row of them. Sometimes just one or two blobs, sometimes the whole tree looks as though it’s choking beneath them.
Perhaps it is, for the blobs are mistletoe which, as you no doubt know, is a parasitic plant. The sticky seeds are rubbed off birds’ beaks into cracks in the tree, where they grow, sucking nourishment from the trees like vegetarian leeches.
There is enough mistletoe round here for the whole world’s Christmas kisses. I know mistletoe also has Druidic connotations and when I get back to England I will try to find out what they are.
Meanwhile, to see trees completely covered in mistletoe gives me a slight feeling of unease. It’s out for what it can get. Very Christmassy.
All together now:
“Christmas time, mistletoe and wine” - - - Not really very appropriate, eh, Cliff? Terrible song, too, by the way.