From your window, you can see snow illumined by the moon and whistling wind. It's 12/24, and you can't sleep. Thrill runs through your body and you fight the temptation to tip toe to the tree. But you don't. You pull the blanket up and squeeze your eyes until, without quite realizing it, your dreams of 12/25, 6am shift to that silver snow, and all your subconscious ears can hear before you drift off to visions of sugarplums is the winter wind whistling through the icicles hanging from your roof.

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