Christmas tree, lit.
Snow? Falling by the bucketful.
Under a blanket with a big bowl of peppermint ice cream. Frosty, silky, the color of cotton candy, crunches of red and green speckled throughout. My lips are chilled, my teeth polar steel. Stomach revolts, ever so quietly. Process repeated many times throughout the days of Christmastime. To think, ice cream really isn’t even my thing.