Naomi At the Christmas Tree

My seven-month-old daughter, beside herself with swirling fascination, has unfolded her tiny arm a bridge for Christmas elves’ safe passage, unconcerned she’s being scolded by Papa Grinch - who’s clacking away at this. From my perspective on the less-festive couch, I cannot see her sparkling eyes witness magical animation, but I’ll vouch something’s ‘bout to go down, based on a smile and ding-a-ling giggles; her angelic face lit up as though nutcrackers march awhile icicles melt the seams of man-made space where a dad’s unaware this innocent time (just for me) gift wraps Naomi’s holiday crime. 11/30/2018