Life with Rugs is Better

Curled before the fireplace on our new Persian rug, my siblings and I sip hot cocoa with marshmallows, made from the packages. We happily drink in the wafting scents of baking gingerbread, burning wood and delicate pine from the angelically adorned Christmas tree.

I murmur, “checkmate,” as my sister knocks over her king, and we both gaze into the blazing flames, too content to make a fuss. The gorgeous antique rug itches my elbows as I reach for the lovingly chipped pieces, gathering them in my lap carefully.

I turn my stare onto our large Christmas tree, shimmering beside the piano; divine because we decked it as a family. Twinkling, multicolored lights reflect off the tinsel and glass ornaments, tripling the glistening effect. Every crevice and outcropping of limb is winking merrily, and I wink back. Many forms of Santa Claus are nestled among the evergreen needles, and old, stale candy canes jolly the bare patches at the bottom. A few brightly wrapped presents reflect the light from the tree, waiting excitedly for dawn to be joined by their numerous brethren come morning.

My older brother peacefully sips his cocoa, watching us reset the pieces; we carefully arrange the pawns so that they all face forward, striking shadows almost bring them to life. The glass is steamed up from the warmth of the living room. The flickering, mellow glow of the fire dances across the ivory piano keys, resting after a long bout of caroling.

I contemplate allowing my baby sister to best me in our game of softly blurring wits. I foggily decide against it, because she would probably know I’d faked it.  As she tentatively pushes forward the petite white pawn at the very front, I lean back to look through the window, which is encrusted with hokey holiday stickers.

 Only a downy coat of wondrous, powdery snow outside could brighten the atmosphere.  My heavy eyelids creak shut, and I imagine what it would be like to have a white Christmas; the soft flurries of snow whirling across the black sky.

My imagination fails me, so I twist back around on my stomach for another go at the chocolate chip cookies.