Читать книгу Christmas Cowboy Kisses - Carol Arens - Страница 8

Dear Reader,

One of my most beloved memories of childhood was the sight of our Christmas tree on Christmas morning. We never saw the tree before December 25th, nor did we help to decorate it, but come the morning of the big day there it was. Always touching the ceiling, strung with big lights of a sort now out of use, and hung with hundreds of strands of tinsel—put in place by some elf, we decided.

The ornaments were a mixture of heavy German balls in solid colors and glittering spun-glass pieces with gold dust scattered hither and yon. I still have one of my grandmother’s German balls—not the prettiest decoration on the tree these days, but one holding fond memories of a woman much loved and revered in the thoughts of her grandchildren.

There was nothing to equal the scent of our Christmas tree, for it was redolent with the aroma of a pine forest, and we spent long hours lying on the floor long after the gifts were opened, simply enjoying the sight and scent of our tree, which was always “the best ever.” Somehow the trees of today cannot compete with such beauty and majesty. Ah, the joys of childhood that shall forever dwell in our hearts.

Carolyn Davidson