“For this tree,” said Mrs. Tinsley. “And for you.”
As Mickey and Gary strung popcorn, their mother told them about olden days and the decorations from her childhood. “There were balls of blown glass, real candles, an angel with wings of silver, and a small, fragile birds with tinsel tails. And jumping jacks on strings. I wonder if they could still be in the house where…” Her words floated over the children like dreams.
Hundreds of miles away, down in the corner of a cellar, sat an old cardboard box. Something inside made a sigh, a silver sigh, almost to silver to notice.