By Susie Kramer
Picture this:
It's cold, about thirty degrees. A crowd of people is forming all around the edges of a picturesque park-like town center. They are all swaddled in their warmest winter accessories - men and women with long scarves wrapped up to their lower lips, children with their boxy, oversized snow-ball-making mittens, babies peeking out from fuzz-stuffed sacks. Under-dressed high-school-aged girls and boys gather in clumps and pretend they're not shivering in the freezing temps. Everyone's faces with that red-nosed, chapped-lipped glow are directed at the ten foot pine that stands proudly in the bandstand. Their breath escapes in icy puffs as they anxiously await the main event.
The gathering crowd gets thicker with more and more familiar faces and the excitement grows. Children find each other and start running and jumping in circles together. The smaller ones are hoisted onto shoulders; the medium-sized ones are ushered in front so they can get a prime view.
The parade of local celebrities begins, announced by the kind voice of the town's mayor - girl and boy scouts on foot, riders of a local equestrian school on horseback, high school home-coming awardees in carriages. Clapping, cheering, and little gasps and squeals are heard from small children as Santa himself is spotted, giving a wave all around and his best "Ho Ho Ho!"
The countdown begins, "Ten... Nine... Eight..."
The fresh pine is the central focal point, and seems almost alive with all the attention it is receiving. It proudly reflects its twinkle lights from its many red and gold ornaments.
"Seven.. Six... Five..."
The warmth of the moment, in spite of the windchill, starts to sink in.
"Four.. Three.. Two..."
"One!"
Thousands of little white lights are flicked on all at once, and the pine is covered and sparkling. A collective cheer is heard from all directions.
This town is special.
This moment is magic.
This feeling is good.