Monday, November 24, 2008


There was not a sound in the house as she padded from her bedroom, along the narrow hall. Morning light fell through the hallway blinds, and she stepped across the sunny slices on the carpet, and then turned into the room at the end of the hall. The room, still clad in darkness, smelt of pine and paper and held the faintest scent of cinnamon. She crossed the room and stood beside the window, and reached upward, grabbing at the curtain cord. She drew the curtain back, exposing frosted glass as the room soaked up the early morning rays.

The little girl turned around. Before her, a giant pine tree stood, its perfect shape stretching to the roof. Around the tree, tinsel hung in layers made of red and green, silver, gold;  and from its branches, stars and balls and fairy lights glinted in the morning sun. Beneath the lowest branches of the tree were gifts, all shapes and sizes, spilling out across the carpet. But that wasn't what she came to see. She raised her perfect face and stared upward at the tree, her eyes transfixed upon its highest point. There an angel sat, perched upon the peak. And more than any gift or any want, she wished that she could be as beautiful.

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