Quiet snow, cozy morning. The windows are glowing a white that lifts you up, cloudy skies fade away to the shimmering lights, exquisite neighborhood. Mother cooking by the stove. Cool draft . . . Slippers and blanket follow you through the house, float down the stairs. What's that smell? The taste of cooking meat in the oven, an early start. Quiet, quiet. Subtle smiles on a subtle day. Magic weaves hidden in every corner. Christmas day. A tree without its shimmer. The plug is out, a soft welcome. Boxes folded and piled beneath the pine cones and still figurines, dangling to and fro, branch to branch, a glistening city of fantasy.
