Every year the little white house gets dressed for Christmas quite early. She spends the blazing summer afternoons dreaming of how lovely she will look in her Christmas sparkles and breezes through autumn with hopes of new apparel for the most glorious season of the year.
As soon as the last bite of Thanksgiving turkey disappears, her Christmas finery is unwrapped. There are boxes of garlands and barrels of wreaths. Yards of ribbon and dozens of ornaments. Best of all is her box of jewels- strand after strand of colorful, sparkling lights, collars and cuffs of gold stars, and reindeer and elves that shimmer like diamonds.
Just opening the lid makes her smile. She shivers with excitement as each piece is carefully taken out and gently put in its place. Sometimes things need polished or repaired, so that is done too.
With each strand, the little house feels a bit prettier and a trifle more brave. She is a happy little house, though not excessively bold. But when everything is done and her jewels burn against the dark coldness of the night, she finds her voice and boldly sings the song all things beautiful and bright sing at Christmas- a birthday anthem for the King.
You can hear them singing if you listen softly to the night.
S.L. Perrault
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