That Time of Year

Snowcapped trees, and twinkling lights.

All the colors of my childhood strung across branches of plastic.

Bulbs of every color reflect a face I recognize, but do not accept as my own.

Not yet.

In the distance, chimes and bells ring in the air as our breath puffs up and entwines together like smoke from a chimney.

The presents are wrapped and tied with ribbons, something I never was good at, but no one seems to mind (you don't, at least).

I try to remember the days when this holiday felt like the first fall of snow.

And the smell of winter air would freeze my nostrils and sting my cheeks as I walked home from school.

Or snowballs fights and ice castles built with tiny hands and minds too wide for this world to understand.

And hot chocolate with marshmallows and cinnamon, sipped by a fire with the cookies I made (grandma's recipe), frosted with care for a man I've never met, but somehow knew.

When the world felt a little kinder and brighter.

Even now,

I can't believe that these same eyes used to look at the night sky, searching for Rudolf amongst the clouds.

That these same eyes once looked at Christmas lights like magic.

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Thank you for reading!

- Emily