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‘The Present and the Meadow’

December 9, 2012

I rest patiently beneath a mass of emerald pine branches. A few stray prickly pine needles have fallen down and coat me like the light dusting of snow that fell just this morning. I am a Christmas present, and today is my big day. My glistening rosy wrapping paper covered with russet happy reindeer and a pleasantly plump Santa beams, even in the soft dim light of the small living room. The white calendar that rests by the window with an oak frame reads Dec. 25. The tick tick ticking of the clock beats into my head as if a drummer is in the room playing a lengthy solo. The black minute hand gradually edges forward, almost as sluggish as a tiny snail trying to make its way across the vast meadow outside by the house. I fleetingly look out the oak framed window and see that the meadow is serenely covered with snow, like a rich delicious cake frosted with creamy vanilla frosting. As I contentedly gaze out at the colossal field I feel as blissful as a naive child, with absolutely no worries in the world. I feel as free as a bird, soaring high in the early morning sky. The radiant moon, with its half crescent shape, glitters fearlessly with no reservations about waking up the town with its intense illumination. It is almost as if the moon knows that not one single person in the diminutive town is really sleeping, not on this spectacular night at least. This night is truly magnificent, especially for a Christmas present. Each gift only gets a short amount of time of actually being a fully made up present, and you must believe me when I say I am fully made up, compared to what I started out as. Not many chilly wintry weathered days ago I was a lackluster aged cardboard package with ragged dull edges. As I stared out the window however many days ago I must have looked like an eager child, vibrant eyes fixated on the cheery Christmas themed windows of the high-end department stores. I wasn't a joyful child, though; I was just an unsightly monotonous cardboard box. Gawking outside at the tranquil snowflakes fluttering down so delicately I felt completely and utterly our of place in the exquisiteness of the season. I longed so badly to fit in with all the loveliness that surrounded me that my heart panged with immense jealousy. I felt as if I was a green eyed monster, which wholly contrasted with the ecstasy of the time of year. Each day that approached felt like a ticking time bomb, each day was a day closer to Christmas, a day closer to epic disappointment for me.



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