The True Meaning of Christmas
While I meander down the pathway in the park, the snowflakes fall all around me. Each delicate flake sparkles with a unique aspect. The minuscule pieces all differ from the rest of the flakes falling about on the trees and ground. From their size and shape down to their pattern and consistency, the miniature flakes of ice are the most magnificently distinctive objects found in the world. While wandering about in the seemingly empty park, it is extremely hard to keep from stopping and staring for hours on end while the diminutive beauties rest on a stretched out hand for a second and then as quickly as they came melt away.
As I continue down the white blanketed path, the bursts of cool wind blow through the eerie trees. The trees wave their branches as if beckoning to anyone that hears them to stop and simply enjoy the winter season that has slowly crept upon the world. The tall, monumental like structures have an ghostlike air about them in the nearly vacant park, however, they also contain a welcoming characteristic so unique that it is quite unfathomable by the human mind.
The sound of horse hooves slowly begin to sneak up from behind me. The slight image of a silhouette of a man and a woman snuggling closely together in the back seat slowly reveals as the dark mass continues to inch closer. The vision of the happy couple leaves a desolate feeling in the pit of my turning stomach. I feel as though everyone has someone, anyone. Nevertheless, shear willpower pushes me to continue my lonesome walk.
Pausing for a minute and glancing upward, I notice the twinkling stars for the first time. Each tiny ball of fire resembles hope. Mixed with the cool air and breathtakingly starry sky, the night captivates me with a state of utter reflection; a reflection period so deep that I completely forget the need to be home by midnight. So, as I glimpse at my watch I decide I must continue on down the increasingly snow-covered path.
The next section of the walkway is tastefully lined with flickering luminaries. By this time of night about three quarters of the once lit candles now sit flameless in the milk jugs the girl scouts set up this morning. The luminaries serve as spotlights, ushering people to the center of the park where the illustrious town Christmas tree stands. In front of the Christmas tree I stand silently, thinking of the year that has just passed as well as making new wishes for the New Year that will come soon after this holiday season. The gushing of the wind is the only sound to be heard throughout this area of the vast park. The loud gong of the clock striking eleven o’clock breaks the seemingly endless silence. The clock reminds me of my need to start the long journey back to my home.
Slowly, I begin to walk away, all the while secretly wishing to stay forever. The pathway out the back of the park is much more desolate than the center where the tree resides. I quickly approach the edge of the park that meets the roadside. If I turn left, I will head directly back to my house, on the other hand, if I turn to my right, I will move farther away from where I am supposed to be going, home. My curiosity overcomes my better judgment, and I decide to make the turn to the right.
As I am walking, I pass by many houses, some lit with warm lights and some completely dark with just the decorative lights providing a way for me to find my way home. As I near the end of the road, a small house sits directly in front of me. It was not exceptionally special or elaborate. Just a small house with four walls and a roof, however, it fascinated me in a way I cannot explain.
Peering through the windows, I could see the family gathered around a rickety, old table. On the table sits a miniature turkey, yet every face seems to have a smile as big as the white moon that sits in the vast sky directly above the tiny house. Everyone has a plate containing a meager amount of food. Yet, the looks on their faces show that they are proud of what they have even if it is not much.
Continuing to watch, I stare as they move from the dining room to a small room adjacent to where they ate. In the room there is a piano and the tiniest Christmas tree I have ever seen. Music resonates from their house as the woman, whom I assume is the mother, starts to play the ivory keys. Everyone begins to sing the happy tune of “Joy to the World“. When the song finished, the parents kiss every last one of their eight children good night and send them to bed.
I realize that the time is now a quarter til Midnight, and I still have about thirty minutes left until I reach my house. I pry my eyes away from the family and start to walk away. Before the house is completely out of sight, I turn around and think to myself, this most definitely is the true meaning of Christmas.
yea...so thats my scholastic writing essay...i won a silver key...which i guess is pretty good...i dunno...i dont like the essay that much...well if you feel like reading the whole essay comment and tell me what you think... | 
