Nick lay on his back beneath the glowing Christmas tree, his arms folded behind his head. The world outside was cold and dark, but here, under the tree, everything felt warm and alive. The freshly strung silver tinsel shimmered like icicles in the glow of the multicolored lights, each bulb casting tiny rainbows that danced across the ceiling. Ornaments of every shape and size dangled above him, some new and shiny, others carrying the weight of Christmases past—like the faded red sled his mom had made as a child and the golden star his dad bought when he and Mom first got married.
The air smelled like Fraser fir, sharp and sweet, mingling with the faint scent of cookies baking in the kitchen. It was a smell that meant Christmas. Nick inhaled deeply, letting it fill his chest. He felt small under the tree’s grand branches, but not in a bad way. He felt safe, like the tree was a magical protector of the season.
As he gazed up through the boughs, the room seemed to blur and soften. The twinkling lights weren’t just lights anymore; they were stars, scattered across a velvet sky. In that moment, Nick imagined himself in a wintery forest, where the trees stretched taller than mountains and the snow sparkled like glitter. He could almost hear sleigh bells in the distance, faint and sweet.
“Nick,” his mom called from the other room. “The cookies are ready!”
He blinked, the spell breaking just a little, but he didn’t want to move just yet. This was Christmas, he thought. Not just the tree, or the cookies, or even the gifts waiting to be wrapped. It was this feeling—the magic, the peace, and the promise of more wonder to come.
With a sigh and one last look at the shimmering tree, Nick rolled to his feet. He wasn’t leaving the magic behind, though. He carried it with him as he ran toward the kitchen, the scent of Fraser fir following him like a whisper of everything that made Christmas special.
