Every year, I have an invisible Advent wreath.
The one year I tried to have real greenery, the wreath shed needles all over the place. Since it sat on the old dresser that is the only space I have large enough to accommodate an Advent wreath, and the needles were particularly fond of shedding whenever I disturbed the wreath by opening the dresser drawers, I kept finding dried-up needles among my socks for months afterwards. Advent is sacred, but so are my socks. No more greenery.
Still, I love to light the Advent candles and say a prayer over them. I have four cheap glass candle holders, and four hand-dipped candles, and that is it. At least I get fresh candles every year.
I arrange them as normal for Advent candles, wait for the sun to go down, take up the Book of Common Prayer that my dad gave me for Christmas one year, turn off the lights, and light up the appropriate number for the day. I read a prayer by the candle light, savoring the increased amount of light every week as Christmas approaches, and feeling the prayer fly outward around the world.
