We tend to rush straight to the parts that show, the ornaments, the ribbons, the moment that earns a photograph. But over time, I’ve learned that the most important layer is the one you feel before you notice it. The glow. The quiet undercurrent that holds everything else together.

Whether the tree is real or faux, I always begin in the same place: with the lights. Not because it’s the proper order, but because it sets the emotional temperature of the season for me. There’s something deeply grounding about starting in the quiet, before the sparkle asks for attention. I usually work after sunset, lights already turned on, when the day has softened and the house feels hushed. In that stillness, decorating shifts from something to finish into something to tend.

I keep my lighting intentionally warm and gentle, never sharp, never overwhelming. Light should invite you closer, not demand to be seen. I use three types, each chosen with a specific role in mind.

First come the green-wire outdoor lights, tucked close to the inner core of the tree. The thicker wire disappears into the branches, and the light feels as though it’s rising from within, like a quiet glow rather than an added layer.

For the outer branches, I move to metal wire lights with solar panels. They’re flexible, easy to guide along the natural shape of the tree, and they hold their position beautifully. This is where depth begins to appear, where the tree starts to feel dimensional, almost breathing.

At the top, I use battery-powered metal wire lights for the star. It makes removal effortless later on, and the delicate wire fades away visually, allowing the light itself to take the lead.

When it comes to wrapping, I resist uniformity. Even spacing might feel efficient, but it often flattens the tree. Instead, I move high and low, in and out, letting the lights wander naturally through the branches. I want the effect of a night sky scattered, organic, quietly luminous, rather than something measured and precise. Decorating after dark makes all the difference; you can see exactly where the light settles and where it’s still longing to land.

Once the lighting feels right, everything else finds its place. The ornaments don’t need to compete. The tree doesn’t need to perform. It already knows who it is.

Do you begin decorating with a checklist, or with a feeling you want the space to hold? I’d love to know what sets the tone for your holiday rituals.

And if slow, intentional decorating and finding beauty in the everyday speaks to you, you’ll find more inspiration waiting over on Instagram at Ascape Living. I’d love to welcome you there.

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