Winter (a one-sentence story)

Tall pines tower over my brothers and me, our short breaths visible in the December chill
that cuts through our matching corduroy jackets as we dash through rows of Fir trees
in search; our leather-soled saddle shoes slick on the winter grass, frozen, unforgiving,
it tears a pant knee while mom strolls behind, tolerant of her boys jaunt through the
Christmas tree farm of youth; beside her, our father, red saw in hand to fell our tree,
patiently enjoys the familiar winter scene, but to me that moment feels like the
first holiday, the only holiday, the only moment in a blessed life of adventure
and growth as we explore a magical forest before each taking a turn on the red saw,
momentarily removing our wool mittens to be men, but savoring a carefree child's
Christmas that begins with a Noble Fir atop our family's Delta 88.