I came together in the cold. The press of small hands shaping me to life, rounding, lifting, setting me upright against the day. The ground held firm under my weight as the sky grew pale and wide above me, light spreading across my skin with a cool warmth that enriched the core of my being.
Snow fell around me, soft and patient, filling the quiet spaces, nestling into my shoulders and arms, clinging gently as if it knew me. More arrived in careful drifts, the air busy with white, the world hushed and bright all at once. Somewhere close, bells chimed faintly, carried on the breeze with lazy charm.
A scarf wrapped around my middle, wool warmed with borrowed heat, smelling of cupboards, laughter and something sweet baking nearby. A hat followed, place with ceremonious laughter that sparked a smile in the coal of my eyes. Suddenly, the world had edges and colour. Snowbanks rose like small hills, cut by the prints of childish feet. Mittens smoothed me proudly, as cherubic faces of pink giggled with unburdened glee.
They ran in wide circles, boots crunching, scarves trailing behind them like bright ribbons. Snowballs whipped through the air, bursting into powder before they ever thought to land. Breath bloomed in pale clouds and vanished just as quickly, laughter lingering longer than the sound itself, as if the air itself wanted to keep it there.
The yard felt endless then, wrapped in white and wonder. Windows glowed softly from the house, spilling squares of gold onto the snow. Each time the door opened, warmth rushed out to meet the cold, carrying music and voices and the promise of hands held close inside. It all drifted together, sound, light, motion, settling into the evening like something meant to be kept. Time moved gently. It wandered rather than passed. I stood where they left me, finished and certain, watching the day stretch and fold in on itself.
When the sky deepened to blue and stars blinked awake, the children slowed. They paused to look at me once more, patting my sides, adjusting my scarf, laughing softly as if afraid to wake the night. Then they went inside, leaving the yard glowing and quiet.
I remained, wrapped in winter and light, holding the day exactly as it was, whole, warm, and bright with the simple magic of Christmas.