Our parents took us to see “The Nutcracker” for Christmas once when we were very young, and my sister and I were immediately enamored.
For weeks after we would twirl and leap through the house imagining we were one of the willowy angels on stage, our cotton nightgowns and T-shirts transformed into gauzy skirts and sequined leotards — our bare toes covered in imaginary silk-lined pointe shoes. Our heartbeats were synced with the march of the cannon and the flowers’ waltz carried us to dreamland each night on a glittery cloud.
The music still inspires my imagination, and when I hear the rolling piano and bright trumpet blasts, I
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