Everything seems to glow. There is the bright whitish-blue of the computer screen that reflects in miniature upon her yellow eyes, and the fragile alabaster light of the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, twinkling off of the sparkles and sequins that bedeck it. The tree seems pleased with this, tucked between the desk and the old piano; it gleams comfortingly throughout the room, quite happy to share its incandescence.
The strings of lights outside glow also, and cast gold upon the dark suburban street in the form of geometric outlines and dripping icicles. The scene is begging for snow. But instead of snow, it is flocked by clear velvet sky, the last of the sun's rays fading to the west.
What glows the brightest though, is the quiet smile of the girl inside at the computer. She should be pursuing the last of her studies before winter break, but instead, she is distracted by words. It's not unusual, nor is it something she can help. She can only write some more, and grin at her own silliness.