Thursday, March 20, 2014

Every evening the toys performed, and every day the pine tree shed more needles on the floor around them until Christmas was gone.  Then the tree was thrown out and the toys were packed off to the attic with the ornaments.  There they lay jumbled in a box together, in the warm, sharp dry smell of the attic beams and the dim light of the clouded, cobwebbed windows.  Through long days and nights they listened to the rain on the roof and the wind in the trees, but the sound of the living room clock striking midnight could not reach them; they never had permission to speak at all, and they lay in silence until another year had passed and they stood once more beneath the tree.

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