When I was little my uncle Eduardo used to tell me stories every night. Thanks to him, perhaps, I grew up so fond of books... of day-dreaming... and turned out to become a writer myself -- a writer, let's be frank, who still has a lot to learn! This quick post, however, is not about my poor grammar. It is about my uncle's stories! Actually, it is more specifically about a certain story... a certain -- as I like to call it -- reverie told around Christmas.
If you did not remember (or didn't think it could be possible), in December it is summer time in Brazil. In cities like my dear Recife we listen to and sing "White Christmas" during this time of the year, but the song (alas!) has no real meaning other than imagining -- or rather, like Bing Crosby would have said, dreaming of... -- what Christmas is like in places like where I now find myself. Summer nights in Brazil have clear, bright skies. The breeze is cool and constantly inviting family gatherings outside.
Uncle Eduardo was known for his loud laughter that could be heard miles away, but during summer nights, when we sat outside contemplating the sky, he knew how to say just the right words in a very small and powerful dose of imagination and get both of us in silent reverie for hours. "The stars are windows and if you pay attention you will be able to see people walking by them on the other side of the sky", he would say to me. Once I could swear I saw Santa Claus walking by one of those windows, his red clothes shining through the glass. Santa waived at me and I waved back. We would stay in that state, silently observing the sky, our upturned faces lit by the moon and our own dreams, until someone joined us and mentioned how the sky looked beautiful that month. We would smile and agree.
Merry Christmas to you!
