On a frosty morning after Christmas, Camp Littlemore was blanketed in a sparkling frost, a white sheen that made the world look as if it were cast in glass. Inside the cozy kitchen, warmed by the crackling fire in the kitchen stove, the children huddled in their woolen sweaters, their noses almost pressed against the cold windowpane.
It was Epiphany Sunday, a day when the tale of the three wise men was fresh in their minds, told by the flickering fire the night before. As they gazed out, the old garage by the elm tree, usually a shelter for the tractor and farming tools, seemed different. A golden glow spilled from its open doors, and silhouettes moved within.
Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, the children looked closer. There, against all reason and reality, stood the three wise men, cloaked in rich reds and deep purples, their crowns glinting in the mysterious light. And in the heart of the garage, nestled in what appeared to be a makeshift manger, was a baby, radiating a soft, heavenly light.
The children, wide-eyed and breathless, watched as the wise men bowed, presenting their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The air seemed to hum with an old, sacred song, and the frost on the window bloomed into intricate patterns, like angelic fingerprints.
For a moment, the veil between the then and now, the there and here, seemed to thin, and the story of the Epiphany unfolded before their eyes, as real as the frost and as close as their breath against the glass.
Then, as quickly as it appeared, the vision faded. The garage stood as it always had, silent and still in the cold morning light. But the children at Camp Littlemore knew that something magical had happened, a moment of wonder, a glimpse of the eternal story that lay just beyond the reach of sight, but not beyond belief. They turned from the window, their hearts ablaze with the warmth of the miracle they had just witnessed, a memory to cherish on all the frosty mornings to come.
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