Perfect

I sit in the wide, glass window that overlooks our yard. Snow has turned the brown field into a white wonderland. Winter is my favorite time of the year. When the leaves fall, the snow thickens, and dreams are closer to reality. I sip from the mug of hot chocolate in my pale hands, and smile as I watch the children and dogs of the neighborhood play in the crisp morning. I laugh as Duncan, my younger brother, runs past in his puffy coat, trying to out run his angry playmate. Duncan had stuffed a snowball down Brendan's shirt. They ran and chased, then dropped to the frozen ground, exhausted from their adventures.

By the time they decide to come inside, my mug is empty, but I still cradle it in my hands and watch the winter scene before me. My peaceful thoughts were interrupted however, by the loud exclamations by the chilled boys. I scold them for tracking snow in the house and begin to make more coco. I shake my head as Brendan falls over after failing to remove his boot. By the time the boys had untangled themselves, their drinks were ready. They each grab a mug and retreat to the sofa, where they’ll have a million adventures without moving an inch.

As night falls and Brendan returns to his own home, we all prepare for bed. We brush our teeth, and wish each other good night. As I follow my Mom, Dad, and brother up the stairs, I glance back toward the sparkling tree in the living room. The colorful boxes sat under and around the base, waiting for the morning when my brother and I will pull our sleepy eyed parents to discover the treasures of Christmas morning.

I close my eyes for a moment, to place this picture in my memory forever.

Everything is perfect.

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A poem that I wrote for my Mom's birthday, which is in December.

And the names have no relevance what-so-ever. They are fictional, just like this story/poem.

Zoa the Twilight Wyvern