Fresh in December: When you lack air, just open a draft in the window to breathe again.
What I'm looking for is a hint of magic, a rare spice to find!
Can you smell cinnamon and the silence of the flakes?
Outside everything is white and you are lost in the look of a cake, in the warmth of the room, in the soft and slow sparkle of many colored lights. In the decorations of the house, in what you do not expect on the street, there is a new air!
I will dwell on the scent of pine, on the red napkin in squares, on this moment of the present which, for once, I wish never to end.
The table is ready, only the magic elves are missing: the special friends you chose to spend this moment with.
