Where Christmas trees go to die

The twelfth piper has piped his dues thus bringing the holiday season to a close. Overnight fallen Christmas trees appeared in the streets in their hundreds. Stripped of their decorations, lights, tinsel, their glory days behind them, their purpose served. They lie stricken by the roads, in the gutters waiting to be towed away.

Strangely all the trees I passed in the streets pointed in the same direction. Was it a clue I wondered. Did they lead somewhere? What would I find if I followed them? The fabled Christmas tree graveyard, perhaps? Home of the carcasses of trees of Christmas's past.

I found the thought immeasurably sad and went home instead.