It hangs in my office. Directly in my line of sight.
The trees are tall and bare. Dark imposing sticks rising high above the soft blanket of white. A singular icy path leading to the bottom of a hill the only disturbance to its innate stillness.
Desolate, I once thought.
Yet as I sit here and gaze at my aunt’s handiwork I now feel nothing but joy.
Sometimes I can hear it. The glorious sound of children screaming with laughter.
I see them. Bundled up in snowsuits, wearing matching knit caps and mittens and racing down the lone path on wooden sleds with shiny red metal runners.
I nod knowingly at the frantically shouted parental warnings of impending doom.
I savor the sweet and spicy aromas of the steaming cups of hot cocoa and cider.
Then I realize my nose and toes are numb from the cold and…