by Kurt
I was little. Small enough to scoot almost right up under the Christmas tree. There was a snow draped mountain flowing like billowing clouds under the fragrant draping branches. Little cotton ball snow people inhabited a village of frosted houses and glistening steepled churches made from bits and bobs of cardboard and boxes. Tiny figures fashioned from silvery pipe cleaners skied down the slopes. Here and there a pretty miniature tree fashioned from evergreen cuttings poked into a wooden spool graced the snowy white sheet hillsides.
The village was my mother’s doing. She was always one to spin magic out of everyday objects. I was there, right in that village, as I lay on the floor with my chin in my hands…….in wonderland…….enthralled by my mother’s magic.
But my father was not to be outdone. He had provided magic beyond compare. On this Christmas morning a grand surprise awaited a little boy whose heart and mind were ready to be filled with the wonders that Christmas would provide.
I was truly transported as I watched that beautiful train roar around the village under our tree. The engine light would flash happily as the train rounded the corner towards me. The cars, each more delightful than the one before, rolled by. The bright red caboose, yes that was my favorite, lit up brightly as the train disappeared behind the tree and village. But wait! Here it comes again! And look at that smoke! Puff, puff, puffing from the smokestack! The smell of that smoke! Why, it smelled like Christmas!!!
…….continue to SANTA for further reminiscences of Christmas, by Kurt