The wrapped gift sits alone under the plastic tree. Lights that should festoon the night hang dull and dust encrusted. The cord that once connected to the power socket is unplugged. The door stands open and snowflakes drift in eddies into the cold hearth. The capsule that holds the memory in my child’s pale hands is a blown glass ornament. Within the orb a green tree in miniature stands, festooned in lights that wink. A miniature fire flickers within a fireplace. A gift box lies open on the ground. A child holds aloft a small ornament that catches the light.


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