Sharifah: A Room Full of Love

A room full of love.

The generously-proportioned scarlet armchairs basked in the warmth emanating from the glowing fireplace. The tasselled cushions almost visibly inched closer to the gradually crumbling logs in the grate, away from the gradually crumbling logs in the grate, away from the iciness of the gently falling snowflakes in the windowsill. The late afternoon light enhanced the golden aura that veiled the rose wallpaper and bronzed the furniture.

The proud fir in the corner was half-decorated from the bottom up, a trail of sparkly tinsel wrapped around it dotted with metallic baubles and quaint trinkets accumulated over the years. The rest of the ornaments sat in a red and green striped box next to the presents, clearly from the early-birds who had done their holiday shopping early, waiting to be placed on the tree that evening by eager little hands stained with the remains of mincemeat pies.

The room was still, like the paintings on its walls. The only movement was the flickering flames in the fireplace and the small feet rushing up the stairs, followed by squeals of mirth as bathtime took place. The room seemed to sigh, as if reminiscing on past Christmases, in anticipation of the events of the night.