waiting for Santa

A child pauses in a corridor of warm dusk, suspended like a half-opened Christmas story. Light blooms around her in star-bursts, not loud but attentive, guardians of anticipation. The digital brush softens edges into a dream-felt realism: braided hair like a golden rope tying innocence to hope, dress floating in honeyed chiffon tones, skin kissed by hearth-like luminescence. The wooden doorframe becomes a narrative pillar, the place between “before” and “soon.” Nothing rushes; everything waits, breathing wonder rather than staging it. It carries the gentleness of old illustrated tales, where magic is a guest, not a spectacle. The emotion is the event.

I’m moved by this quiet expectation, this tender vigil of belief. 🌟

Cute!

so sweet