The Burst Behind the Branches — Under the glass roof of the moonlit plaza, Iris carried three wrapped boxes that smelled of paper, pine sap, and peppermint twine. Read the full story →
Under the glass roof of the moonlit plaza, Iris carried three wrapped boxes that smelled of paper, pine sap, and peppermint twine. She wanted the town’s new Christmas tree to feel at home before the midnight bell, but the branches kept leaning away from the marble fountain as if listening for another room. Even the ornaments clicked softly, nervous as teeth.
“Where do you belong?” Iris whispered. A scratchy fizz answered from behind the lowest bough, where nobody looked because the gift ribbons hid the shadows. She pushed aside a square blue box and found a tiny folded star, flat as a comic flash, humming with gold dust. When she pinned it behind the trunk, the whole tree snapped straight—not stiff, but certain—and bright jagged bursts leaped out behind every branch.
Since that night, Christmas trees know they are home when secret brightness gathers at their backs. Next time you see those sharp starbursts around a tree, can you tell which hidden spark chose the place first?
