Our perfect tree, once a shimmering tower of balsam and light, stood naked and skeletal against the window. With Christmas behind us, I worked methodically with my electric shears, cutting through every green bough until only a bare, tapering spine remained. What was once the centerpiece of our living room now lay in a neat heap on the floor. These salvaged branches, still fragrant with the scent of pine, are destined for the porch fire pit; soon, the very tree that warmed our spirits inside will be warming our faces under the cold starlight of a future evening.