The Scent of Christmas

Caste Iron gray, an old radiator sits below
my bedroom window. A wooden sill,
covered with decades of oak finish nestles just above.

Save for a slight hiss of steam, a tranquil silence ensues. The warmth quietly envelopes the dark room. Only the soft light radiating off the blanket of snow outside gives any respite from the emptiness.

The window is ever so slightly open at the bottom. The heat from the old radiator stops the ferocious December Williamsville frigid cold from following the faint light into the room. Yet what also comes forth from the cold night is the smell of Christmas.

Pine trees outside mingle with the unmistakable clean, baron scent of the cold air, and they both waft so gently into the room.

I lay quietly, eyes wide open, my six-year-old body curled as if in the womb, nestled under covers, wondering when Santa arrives.
The smell of winter, rather, arrives at my nostrils. I face away from my bedroom door, because my anxiousness is too much to bear. I dream a twilight dream of what is happening just beyond my bedroom door, across the small hallway and into the parlor, stocked full of love from my mother. The fully dressed tree in its corner, the fireplace, covered in garland, as angels stand watch on the mantle. This year as before, just the four stockings for each of us hang above it's hearth. A fifth will come next year as I discovered, watching my mother's belly grow since November. Yet, for now, the four of us lay in our beds waiting for the fireplace to beckon forth that quiet old gift-giving soul.

I lay frightened and anxious. My anticipation of the morning is mixed with the dread that should I not fall fast asleep, no Christmas will arrive. So, I lay looking at the window, seeing the drapes ever so slightly wave as the defeated cold air brings in the magic smells outside. The winter smell, slowly works its magic. My eyes give way and I become peaceful. I surrender.
A whistle of steam plays a lullaby. The fresh pine lingers.

I whisper softly to myself, as I drift into my dreams,
"Christmas will come this year",

And it always has.