It is March. The daffodils are up. My neighbor Gary still has his Christmas lights on.

I want to be clear: I am not a petty person. I did not say anything in January, when it was understandable. I did not say anything in February, when it was eccentric. But it is now March 6th, and Gary’s inflatable Santa is still tethered to a lawn stake next to his azaleas, half-deflated and listing to the left like a man who has seen too much. The lights come on every evening at 6 p.m. sharp, on a timer, as if this is intentional. I am starting to think it is.

I have considered the possibility that Gary is simply lazy. But Gary mows his lawn every Saturday at 7 a.m. with military precision. Gary pressure-washes his driveway quarterly. Gary is not a man who forgets things. Which means the decorations are still up on purpose. And if they’re up on purpose, they’re saying something.

“I think Gary believes every day is Christmas. Not in the Hallmark way. In the radical, theological, ‘the incarnation never stopped being relevant’ way. Either that or he lost the box for the snowman.”

I brought it up at our HOA meeting. The board said there’s no rule against Christmas lights in March. Gary, who is on the board, smiled and said nothing. He just smiled. Like a man at peace. Like a man who has transcended the liturgical calendar and arrived somewhere the rest of us haven’t.

My husband says I’m overthinking it. My husband also hasn’t taken down our Halloween wreath, so his credibility on matters of seasonal decor is limited.

I will continue to observe. I will continue to document. And if those lights are still on at Easter, I will know for certain that Gary is either a prophet or the most stubborn man in this zip code.

At press time, Gary had added a Valentine’s Day banner below the Christmas lights, suggesting either layered theology or total anarchy.