After Christmas Candy

The dying sun fades gently sending the room into semi-darkness. The glows from the crackling fire plays across the ornaments on the Christmas tree making them shimmer. From the table in the kitchen the smell of freshly popped corn mixes with the sweet, almost sour, smell of the syrup holding the popcorn into balls. At the other end of the table are chocolates filled with a strange assortment of treats including crushed candy cane, Cheerio cereal, homemade caramel, an butterscotch chips that are too sweet for my liking.
A peaceful silence adds to the warmth of the living room. Mom is laying, stomach down, by the Christmas tree. The oil lamp sitting on the floor beside her gives off just enough light for her to read by. Her voice doesn’t cut through the silence, but seems to add to it. It’s almost like I am feeling the story that floats from her lips rather than hearing it. The younger children feel it too. Their faces are alight with excitement and anticipation but hey sit still resting their heads on Dad’s upper arms. Dad is leaning back against the soft cushions of the couch. His eyes are closed, but I know he’s listening by the way the corners of his mouth turn up into a content smile.
As I listen to the story of a Christmas long past I quietly snack on a few precious chocolates chosen from the ones on the table. The rich creamy taste of the chocolate combines smoothly with the crunchy peppermint chunks. My older sister’s head rests on my lap. This is one of those beautiful moments when her eyes shine, reflecting the colors from the tiny Christmas lights. Her hair seems to dance with the flickering fire as it continues its never ceasing choreography.
I turn to my last two siblings. Both are seated on the ground with their backs against the couch. The younger, a boy with handsome blue eyes and blonde hair, has his head on the shoulder of his older sister. Her short brown hair tickles his cheek. Her face is merry and her smile could make the hardest of hearts laugh.
The cares of any meetings, grand parties, violent snowball fights and other such activities are lost in the soft hum of that beautiful story. The excitement of the day’s candy making have long since dimmed into a peace that is so close to heaven I can almost hear the songs of glorified angels vibrating in my heart.