The Christmas Tree

The Christmas Tree.

The room was fairly large, and painted white. Darkness had already fallen outside; like the start of a dream. The room was lit in a feint glow by the electric lights on the ceiling, giving off a dim radiance. The furniture about the place was old, and sparse and large. The slate floors shone in reflection with new polish.

About the room there hung streamers of all glistening colours; red, green, blue, silver and gold. A bead of metal pearls hung over the fire-place, but there was only two solitary Christmas cards on the television stand. The room was decorated gaily for Christmas, and in the corner stood the tree, with acorns strewn about its base.

The tree was about seven feet tall, a bit taller than your average man. Its leaves were dull green, and flashing lights reflected in multi-colours off the bristles. The tiny lights flashed on-and-off in a continual stream of colourful phlorescence. Between the branches were more streams of decorations, and on the tips hung round bells; gold and silver.

On the very top of the tree, a small Santa Claus dangled precariously on the tip. The tree was a thing of beauty, and pleasure, and happiness. It gave its message of love to all those who passed it anywhere during the festive season. It was green and shiny, and its small lights beat with a happy, colourful pulse throughout the night. It was the tree of the house.

And from without in the street, through the thin cotton curtains, a stray passerby in the night may dimly see the colour, warmth and happiness cast by the glowing tree, and smile to himself as he walks on…