Christmas Morning

There’s the scratch of a record as you’re awakened by Bing Crosby crooning about the holiday.

The aroma of cocoa made of melted chocolate & rich cream floats in the air as it simmers in a silver pot in the stove.

You wander down the stairs to the twinkling lights of deep green pine in the corner beckoning you closer.

You run your fingers over the glittery paper that hugs your gifts, tracing your name written on the tag,

Your mother taps your shoulder and hands you a mug of cocoa, heavy with marshmallows and you swear the first sip is some sort of magic potion.