When I was little, New Year always seemed like real magic to me. The Christmas tree glowed with multi-colored lights, as if tiny stars had settled in its branches. And snowflakes danced outside the window, as if someone invisible was whispering to them where to fly.
Once I even believed that I saw the real Father Frost. He was standing in the yard, in a long fur coat and with a bag over his shoulder. True, the next morning it turned out that it was our neighbor Uncle Volodya, who was returning from a party, but this did not spoil the magical mood!
And now, as an adult, I still notice these mystical little things. Like, for example, when you make a wish as the chimes strike and suddenly realize that it has already come true, although you haven’t even finished your glass of champagne yet. Or when a star falls at the most unexpected moment — and you feel that it’s a sign.
And what about the letters we write to ourselves before the New Year? When you find them a year later, you are amazed at how many dreams have come true, although you have already forgotten what you wished for. Nothing less than real magic!
It seems to me that all the mysticism of the New Year is in ourselves. We begin to believe in miracles, allowing ourselves to be children at least for one night. And although over the years we become more skeptical, deep down each of us is waiting for this mysterious moment when something incredible will definitely happen.
With magic and warmth, Maria.