|The snow drifted down from the heavens in slow meandering paths, only to pile up in tall drifts of white. The sun gave off the weak glow of a winter noon. There’s Christmas music playing in the background and the tinkle and cling of Christmas ornaments being unpacked. Once all the boxes opened, the bags removed, and the contents placed out with care, a girl begins to hang the delicate orbs on the trees branches with care.
Things have changed since she was young. The tree is no longer real. The hand-painted wood ornaments have been exchanged for glass balls covered with glitter and painted in bright hues. The oversized bow of green and red plaid that once sat on top of the tree has been supplanted by a silver star.
But some things were still the same as she remembered; the same tired Christmas carols, the giant wreath that hangs on the door, the snowman stickers that cling to the windows. And even though they no longer adorn the tree, her favorite childhood decorations are still there in the box, underneath the mass produced glitzy orbs. There’s an ornament for her first Christmas and every other “first” over the subsequent years, a gold ornament for every year she believed in Santa, and one for each of the favorite characters of her youth. There’s a ball with a hinge that her grandpa had given her, painted wood animals with each family members name on them, and ornaments she had made herself.
The girl looks through these ornaments now and remembers all the years she decorated the tree, much the same way she was doing now. Next year she will be off at college and it makes her sad to think that next Christmas she may not be around for this favorite tradition. Amidst all these feelings of sentimentality and nostalgia she reaches into the box, withdraws her favorite ornament and places it at the bottom of the tree where it would sit obscurely among the bright orbs. Then she sits back to look at the tree and she is satisfied.
© Copyright 2011 M.E. Harding (UN: maluvs2read at Writing.Com).
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