White Christmas

It is winter in a quiet little village. Outside it is silent; the air hangs heavy with cold. In a small cottage, someone turns on an old record player. The needle drops gently onto the record, and then that familiar, warm voice of Bing Crosby is heard.

The song that starts playing is **White Christmas**.

In the living room stands a Christmas tree with small lights. A boy looks out the window. There is no snow yet, but he hopes it will fall tonight.

His grandmother, who is sitting beside him knitting, smiles as she listens to the song.

“When I was young,” she says softly, “we played this song every Christmas.”

Bing Crosby’s voice sounds calm and dreamy. The song speaks of longing for a Christmas like in the old days — with soft snow, sleds gliding down the streets, and houses covered in white.

Slowly, small snowflakes begin to tap against the window.

The boy points enthusiastically outside. “Grandma, look! It’s starting!”

They laugh together. As the snow falls ever heavier, Bing Crosby continues singing about a white Christmas. It almost feels as if the song itself brought the snow.

And so that moment — with the falling snow, the warm room, and the music — becomes a memory they will never forget. ❄️🎄