Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - 🎄 Get Sleepy's Christmas Story Collection (Bonus)

Episode Date: December 6, 2025

Narrator: Thomas Jones 🇬🇧By various writers ✍️ Welcome back, sleepyheads. Tonight, we have a special, rather magical selection of our very best Christmas stories, stitched into a long-length compilation episode. 😴 We hope you enjoy listening! 🎅   Watch, listen and comment on this episode on the Get Sleepy YouTube channel. And hit subscribe while you're there! Enjoy various playlists of our stories and meditations on our Slumber Studios Spotify profile. Connect Stay up to date on all our news and even vote on upcoming episodes! Website: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠getsleepy.com/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠facebook.com/getsleepypod/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠instagram.com/getsleepypod/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Twitter: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠twitter.com/getsleepypod⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Our Apps Redeem exclusive unlimited access to Premium content for 1 month FREE in our mobile apps built by the Get Sleepy and Slumber Studios team: Deep Sleep Sounds: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠deepsleepsounds.com/getsleepy/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Slumber: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠slumber.fm/getsleepy/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ FAQs Have a query for us or need help with something? You might find your answer here:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Get Sleepy FAQs⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ About Get Sleepy Get Sleepy is the #1 story-telling podcast designed to help you get a great night’s rest. By combining sleep meditations with a relaxing bedtime story, each episode will guide you gently towards sleep. Get Sleepy Premium Get instant access to ad-free episodes and Thursday night bonus episodes by subscribing to our premium feed. It's easy! Sign up in two taps: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠getsleepy.com/support⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Don't forget, you can also GIFT A SUBSCRIPTION to someone you love! 🎁 Get Sleepy Premium feed includes: Monday and Wednesday night episodes (with zero ads). An exclusive Thursday night bonus episode. Access to the entire back catalog (also ad-free). Extra-long episodes. Exclusive sleep meditation episodes. Discounts on merchandise. We’ll love you forever. Get your 7-day free trial: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠getsleepy.com/support⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Thank you so much for listening! Feedback? Let us know your thoughts! ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠getsleepy.com/contact-us/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Get Sleepy is a production of Slumber Studios. Check out our podcasts, apps, and more at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠slumberstudios.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. That’s all for now. Sweet dreams ❤️ 😴 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get Sleepy is a production of Slumber Studios and is made possible thanks to the generous support of our sponsors and premium members. If you'd like to listen ad-free and access weekly bonus episodes, extra long stories and our entire back catalogue, you can try out premium free for seven days by following the link in the episode notes. Now, a quick word from our sponsors. Hey, it's Andrew. I'm the host of Send Me to Sleep, another sleep-inducing podcast from the Slumber Studios Network. On Send Me to Sleep, you'll find classic stories specially narrated to help your mind relax and drift off into a good night's rest.

Some fan favourites are The Secret Garden, Emily of New Moon, and the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Everything is designed with your sleep in mind. So if you're looking for another great way to ease into a restful night's sleep, then just search Send Me to Sleep on your favourite podcast player. I look forward to seeing you there. Hi, my name is Elizabeth.

I'm the host of the Sleepy Bookshelf, another sleep-inducing podcast from the Slumber Studios Network. On the sleepy bookshelf, you'll find a calming library of some of the best works of fiction and non-fiction ever written, narrated specifically to help you fall asleep. Some fan favourites of Pride and Prejudice, Alice in Wonderland, and Anne of Green Gables. Everything is designed with your sleep in mind.

So if you're looking for another great, way to ease into a restful night's sleep than just search the sleepy bookshelf on your favourite podcast player. I look forward to seeing you now. Good evening and welcome to get sleepy, where we listen, we relax and we get sleepy. I'm your host Thomas. Thank you so much for being here for this extended bonus episode. Tonight we have a very special collection of some of our best-loved and most magical Christmas stories. It's the perfect selection to get you in the festive spirit and to help you drift off with ease as you listen along.

So, settle down. Take a deep breath in and let it back out. Now close your eyes and relax as we begin our Christmas story collection. The air is cool as Sophia steps out of the warm car. She's comfortable and cosy though. She's wrapped in the warmth of her winter coat and the brisk air feels refreshing on her face. A smell of pine trees stares a sense of anticipation inside her.

She's in the woods on the side of a large hill or a small mountain, depending on how you choose to look at it. And she's here in search of a tree, a very special tree. She's here to find her Christmas tree for this year. Before she closes the door to the car, she sets a piece of paper out visibly on the dashboard. It's a permit, granting her and her companions the right to cut their own tree in a national forest. The Forest Service gives out a number of these permits to the public every year. This helps sustainably manage the forest.

Sophia is grateful for the chance to do this bit of Christmas shopping in the hushed beauty of nature. It also gives her a comfortable feeling of continuity with the past and with tradition. After all, the custom of Christmas trees began with the simple harvesting of a bit of nature to bedek homes and make them festive. of people over the ages, bundling up and trundling out into the woods to choose a tree, keep her company now. Indulging in this modest holiday tradition makes her feel connected to the past, and to the

simple practices that have brought people joy in so many places and so many times. The rituals that have lent rhythm and meaning to their seasons and years. She wraps a red woolen scarf around her neck, letting it slide up around her chin as well. The soft fabric swaddles her neck and nozzles her face gently. It's made of delicate cashmere wool, a treasured gift that she's cared for diligently and used for many years. The air isn't so very cold really, but the scarf makes her feel even coat. and its red colour adds a cheerful touch to her attire.

She tucks its ends snugly into her warm coat. A knitted hat completes her preparations. Now she's ready to venture into the shade of the trees, confident, that she'll be warm and snug as she basks in the cool freshness of the forest air. She closes the car door, then turns to her companions and smiles. It's time to go. Together, they move towards the mass of power. Together, they move towards the mass of pine needles and tree trunks, leaves and branches. They intentionally drove far from the highway before stopping, navigating back roads as they

meandered deeper into the woods. At first it feels tremendously quiet to Sophia's ears, with the rush of distant traffic reduced to a hushed murmur. As she absorbs the silence and the freshness of the air, a sense of peace fills her, welcoming her like an old friend. The group walks in amongst the trees, following a little path worn into the forest floor. Sophia's ears become attuned to the sounds of nature as she goes, and she realizes it isn't so tremendously quiet after all. Somewhere, she hears a thud, perhaps of a pine cone.

hitting the ground. Just above her, a hint of a breeze rustles through the treetops. And when a squirrel runs lightly overhead, a barely discernible noise reaches her. The soft falling of disturbed pine needles. Layered over. Over them all, she hears the light padding of her shoes over the cushiony ground. It feels slightly springy under her feet, which are encased in thick, soft boots that warm her toes and hug her ankles.

All these little noises of the forest contribute to the feeling. of peacefulness, somehow making it feel even more tranquil than the apparent silence had. She senses a gentle equanimity here, the feeling of life in balance, of the interconnected web of plants and animals that have persisted here for so long. In this setting, yesterday and tomorrow blend together with last year and next year, and she finds she's able to breathe out in a way that she hasn't in a long time. And then this soft exhale causes her to breathe in deeply, filling her lung, with fresh air. Pine and sap greet her nostrils. She feels her shoulders, relax.

Her companions are pointing to a fork in the path now, just ahead. They pause to consider the options. After just a moment, they all agree to follow the trail that looks less travelled. It's more of a struggling clearing that extends into the woods than a real path, but it will serve the purpose. As they walk on, Sophia notes the trees that she passes, watching for the purpose. perfect one. But her focus isn't really on her tree hunt, not just yet. For now, she's mostly enjoying the green of the landscape all around her, the soft sounds of slow-growing life,

and the scent of the leaves. Forest bathing, they call it. a term from Japan that describes mindfully enjoying nature as a kind of treatment for the maladies of modern living. She remembers learning that groves of trees can actually create their own microclimates, and that forest air, at least in daytime, is infused with extra oxygen, The deeper you go, the easier you breathe, she thinks. And indeed, she can feel a difference in the air, though whether it's the oxygen or the cool damp or the muffled quiet, or some combination, she couldn't say. It's a distantly remembered kind of feeling that she can only call forest air.

One she recognises instantly, yet had utterly forgotten in the daily reality of city living. Ahead of her, a bird twitters in a friendly sort of way. Maybe it's exchanging pleasantries with a neighbour nearby, or maybe it's chatting with its mate about their store of food for the winter. They certainly seem to be surrounded by abundance in this green land. She walks on, admiring the golden cast of the afternoon. light that slants through the trees. Above her, the winter sun inches sideways across the sky, and the latening hour paints the shadows just a little darker. But this only enhances the beauty

of the light, she notes, as the growing shadows heighten the contrast. between shade and light, sky and trees. She'd like to paint this scene, she realises, though she's never been a painter. Perhaps in the new year, she'll give it a try. But no rush. For now, she has she has the living tableau all around her to enjoy. Up until this point, the trees she's passed have mostly been tall and wide. Gorgeous and inspiring, but not entirely Christmas tree material. Now though, one of her party draws her

attention to a sprinkling of smaller trees over to one side of the trail. They veer off the worn track to cut across where these smaller trees stand. Fallen oak leaves and dry pine needles crunch satisfyingly underfoot. The noise evokes colds. continuity and dependability, the steadfast rhythm of the seasons. Sophia listens to the sound, feeling her feet gently sinking and crunching over the ground, as her eyes scan the trees. Appreciation for the beauty surrounding her and for the soft cadence of nature swells within her.

With it, she feels a great outpouring of love that extends to her present companions and outward into the world. Sophia and her group reach the stand of smaller trees, where they pause and begin to inspect each one with care. This isn't a decision to be taken lightly after all. They examine each tree, noting its heighting its height. and the fullness of its foliage, the placement of branches and their shape. They circle the candidates, viewing them from different angles and vantage points. A gap or a blemish are to be expected, and are even welcome in these wild trees. Sophia has come here to embrace nature in all its beautiful imperfection.

A well-placed ornament or a thoughtful orientation of the tree will smooth over any glaring inconsistencies in its branches or greenery. So, she isn't seen her. seeking a perfect tree per se. Rather, she's seeking the perfect tree for her, for this year, for this Christmas. She needs to consider size, how much space it should occupy, and how much it will shelter beneath it. She needs to consider the look she desires and take into account the decorations she'll be weaving amongst its branches. Finding the right tree for this particular holiday on this particular year is part of the fun of the search of of course. Her group knows this. They let the quest linger and go on, checking now this

this tree, not that one, then comparing them, then stepping back to see them in a group. Then, at last, there's a favourite, a lovely specimen of just the right height and breath, fullness and shine. Still, there's no need to rush the conclusion. They mark the favourite with a fallen branch, then walk back over the rustling, crunching leaves to the path. There they place another fallen branch to signal the spot, so it will be easy to find again. Then they continue along the trail a bit farther, eyes alert, for other stands of trees of an auspicious height and aspect. Sophia's senses seem heightened by the search and the success they've already had,

and she starts to notice more potential Christmas trees. Soon they leave the path again to examine another tree, Before finally determining, it isn't up to the standard of their previous choice. Leaving a marker anyway, just in case, Sophia and her friends walk on. They come across another group of possibilities, and look at each one with care, touching the the needles and bending over to size up the trunks. Next to this group of trees, there's a little opening in the woods, where the sideways sunlight shines in more fully, and thick leaves form a carpet over the forest floor.

Together, they decide to choose this spot to stop for a while. Sophia spreads a blanket over the ground, and they sit. Opening a small bag, one of the group removes a thermos and some little cups. When the thermos is opened, steam emerges, along with warmth and a scent of rich, sweet chocolate. Her companion begins to pour the hot chocolate. The brisk air cools the steaming liquid as it flows into the cups, leaving it just cool enough to drink, but still warm enough to heat them comfortably from the inside. Sophia lifts her cup to her lips and feels the heat rising.

As she sips, she savours the first taste of chocolate and the spreading warmth, sliding comfortably down her throat. The taste stirs up a host of memories, which mix companionably with the present moment in her mind. The peacefulness surrounding her, the comfortable camaraderie of this moment, the anticipation of Christmas to come. All of it together makes this moment complete and fulfilling. She lets herself sink into the present as she would sink into a cozy bed. She knows that she'll drink the rest of her hot chocolate slowly, savouring it, and the moment. She knows she'll exchange a few pleasant words with her companions, alternating with friendly silence as they enjoy this warm treat together. then they'll pack up in a leisurely kind of way in a few moments they'll wander back to the path

and surely return to that first perfect for them tree the one that all of them really knew they were going to shoes all along. They'll carry it back to the car and lay a thick blanket over the car roof. They will strap the tree on top, taking care to check and double check the knots that hold it in place. They'll start their slow and careful drive back along the meandering forest roads, waving to the drivers of other cars, with trees tied to their roofs too. They'll follow the roads to the highway, then follow the highway towards home.

home, headlights shining into the growing darkness of a winter evening. Sophia will take the tree back and welcome it into her own unique corner of the world, her own quirky living space that she appreciates for the shelter it gives her, and the home she is made of it. She'll trim the tree with bright lights and deck it with ornaments. Within its wild branches, she'll nestle delicate and beautiful baubles, as well as worn treasures and odd assortments of ornaments. Remembrances gathered over a life, lived warmly and willingly. Her tree was sparkle and shimmer, trimmed with love, and with decorations that hold significance, not because they're designer editions.

Rather, they are significant because they're what she'll use to bring alive the spirit of Christmas in her segment of space and time. The knowledge of all of this sits within her, encapsulated in the present moment, alongside the past and the future, as she sits in comfort and ease on the soft blanket laid over the cool forest floor. She feels at one with the peaceful,

balance of the woods and the interconnected life that seems to hum softly all around her. She takes a deep breath, allows her eyes to close, and silently gives thanks for this moment. It is... December in Coastal Main, and night falls early. At four in the afternoon, Mara pulls the chain on the solid brass desk lamp, which has been in this place far longer than she has. She thinks about the bookstore's history, about the men and women who've minded the shone.

shop before her, and she hopes there will be many generations after she has gone. A town needs a proper bookseller. It's more than simply a brick and mortar space to buy books. A bookstore is a source of comfort on difficult days, and it's where the community gathers, thinks Mara. She is cheered by the pretty glow of the chipped Tiffany-style lampshade. This lamp keeps Mara company on many long evenings throughout the winter, in this little business on Main Street. She is at work in her. She is at work in a small town that is actually large enough to support three bookstores and four coffee shops, as well as two museums, numerous art galleries, and a seafood restaurant housed inside an old car ferry docked

in the marina. There is an oyster bar and a wine bar and a dive bar for good measure. There is a fabric shop with whimsical curtains and a tavern where young people gather on weekends. Mara was not born in this coastal town, but why? one quite like it a few hours drive away. The ocean is always home. She feels connected to the like-minded people who live and work in Rockland, whether they grew up there, or like her, somehow found their way north to the slightly eccentric, picturesque

Camlet of artists and fishermen. She spent decades searching for that sense of belonging, and she's grateful to have found it in a town in Maine with a real working waterfront, and many folks who still make an honest living from the sea. It's a town that welcomes and fosters creativity. Everyone seems to be an artisan, a musician, a writer, or a weaver in their spare time. Painters like Andrew Wyeth and Edward Hopper famously captured the way the light plays on weathered houses over the lonely, sublime ocean, and on the careworn noble faces of the men and women who live here. Main cause to artistic souls, and Mara has finally put down roots.

Living here, the years of her life have settled into a comfortable rhythm. Winter in a tourist town is dedicated to projects and creative pursuits. And it's a time for fun too, skiing at the snowball on the mountain, or skating on the lakes and rivers. that run through the woods. Mara appreciates the luxury of time from November through to April. In the warmer months, it seems everyone is busy. They're working hard, catering to day-trippers and people who come up from

cities to summer in their seaside houses. In winter, the town rests and regroups. Friends reconnect and draw warmth out of the cold by creating a meaningful life and deepening community ties. There is time to volunteer at the senior home and make food for the homebound in the community kitchen. It's a balanced way of living in harmony with nature and it makes sense to take winter seriously. Winters can be harsh with weeks, even months of endless snow and ice. Certainly the nights at this time of year can feel long when the temperature drops and the darkness descends early.

Mara knows she must be prepared for extreme weather. with enough wood for the stove and oil in the fuel tank, and with warm clothes and a stocked pantry, she can delight in the wildness and the beauty. For it is a very beautiful place. The ocean, which in summer is striking and playful, in which in which in summer is striking and playful, in winter is wonderfully forbidding. The Atlantic comes in with a stern warning. It crashes and turns steel grey. It can even ice over in the harbour,

creating dramatic and jagged sculptures. On the coldest days, there is sea smoke rising from the water. It has a haunted quality. She would not like to swim in those frigid waters now. When Mara looks out of the shop window, she can see those lonely pine trees. Maine is so well known for, as well as two lighthouses that frame the picture. And she sees the lobster boats coming in from Hall. The winter catch is smaller than the bustling summer lobster business.

Some fishermen use winter to do gear work, to make improvements to their traps and line. It is the ideal time to restore old boats. But there are also men and women who brave the icy seas to fish the deep all winter. It is such a luxury to have this seafood all to themselves come December, the locals think. Turning away from the window, Mara shifts her attention to her surroundings. She loves the snug rooms and creaky wooden floors of the bookstore, which she loves the snug rooms and creaky, wooden floors of the bookstore, which overlooks the harbour. The radiator clacks and steams.

Then there is the leather armchair, buttery soft, where so many customers sit to discover the first few pages of a new book. There's the braided rug the last bookseller made herself from rags, a traditional craft in the old days. And there's a handsome wooden ladder on a track that wraps around the walls. It smells of sandalwood. While it's the holiday season, there is also the scent of the cinnamon broom and pine from the tabletop tree, which Mara snipped from the woods.

The little tree is simply lit with fairy lights, its base wrapped in cream-colored felt, trimmed in gold. And then, there are the books. Mara loves the densely packed shelves and stacks on the floor. No matter how many books sell, there always seems to be more. Many are like old friends. There are customers. for all titles and genres. It's so nice how some people will reliably come in every Tuesday for a new

release. The shop carries new fiction from favourite authors, as well as emerging writers and interesting presses. Art books are popular as well as philosophy, religion and spirituality. And tarot cards sell well this time of year, as do greeting cards. There is a well-cureated section of cookbooks and a small but important poetry corner. The most cheerful nook is the area devoted to children's books. Mara loves choosing picture books, as well as graphic novels and chapter books for her youngest clientele. Reading aloud is something she takes particular joy in doing at Christmas time.

Every December, around this time, she runs an event for families. There are seasonal stories and cookies and cocoa for the young and young at heart. This bookshop is upstairs in an old brick building The halls are wood-panelled And the banister is solid and ornately carved There are other shops in the building But mostly offices Some still have the old door

with frosted glass panes and transome windows above the heavy wood. This is a building that feels as if it will endure through the ages, despite the changes that occur outside. Down the hall is a therapist, and there is a yoga studio upstairs. There is even a cobbler, perhaps the last one in town, just above the bookstore. Because of this, all sorts of people visit the building daily. This feels like a gift in and of itself. Downtown still has a quality of it.

aliveness. Of course, during the holidays it is especially vibrant, and the streets are filled with shoppers. They are loaded up with packages and bags, popping in and out of shops. They have rosy cheeks, cute hats, and warm mittens and boots. but at the bookstore there will be no more customers today as the clock strikes five mara dutifully turns the sign on the door so it reads closed to the outside she marks her place and closes the biography she was reading, then shuts down the computer.

She turns off the music and each of the lights. Then she changes out of her ballet slippers and into fleece-lined, tall, waterproof boots. She bundles into her hat, puffer coat, long scarf and leather gloves and she walks down the creaking steps and out into the evening. It is cold on the sidewalk, but a beautiful kind of cold. It feels like snow is coming. Boats and boys are clanging in the harbour. The air smells like good things to eat from the neighbourhood bistros.

Steak and garlic and mussels and wine. Inside the large restaurant windows, couples and groups of friends look content over large dishes of pasta. They are sharing small plates of citrus-scented olives, warm almonds, cheeses and crab dip, and frizzled greens with roasted garlic and bread. Mara starts the cup. Harris starts the car remotely, so it is warm and humming when she opens the door. Chikovsky's Nutcracker Suite plays through the speakers.

The slow ride out of Rockland is spent enjoying the light displays on and around the houses in the neighbourhood and along the rural route. Mara turns left at the neoclassical mansion on the hill, admiring the widow's walk and imposing columns. She smiles at the 12-foot-tall wooden cutouts of St Nicholas and his reindeer, Dasher, Dasher, dancer, prancer, vixen, comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen. And yes, there is red-nosed Rudolph all lit up, as well as cartoonish elves carrying enormous presence. There is a spotlight on the grand white building, and enormous wreaths are hung over every door

and window. Mara imagines a Victorian banquet going on inside, with roaring fires in every room. children devouring sugared ginger and musicians playing fiddles for numerous people dancing. Route 131 is a gentle, rural road with sweeping vistas down the hayfields all the way to the tidal river. In autumn, pumpkins are grown in those fields. And soon, when there is a proper covering of snow, families will sled on the soft powder. And when it is once again summer, there will be a fireworks display for the 4th of July over the water. The entire town will gather in the event barn for lobster and strawberry pie.

Every season is celebrated here in this bucolic corner of the world. The drive is pleasant and so pretty, with handsome, decorations on almost every house. There are coloured lights in the bushes, bicycle lights hanging from eaves, and soon there is the sturdy sign for tenants' harbour. Mara crosses the border and sighs happily even more relaxed. relaxed and ready to be home. Finally, she arrives.

How pretty and warm my house looks, she thinks. Mara loves her small cottage in between the forest and the sea. The simple wreath hanging on the front door is fragrant and locally grown. The decoration was made by the neighbours, a retired couple. They are of Finnish descent and built a sauna behind their house. It's so delightful to see them laughing, running like children from the snug cedar building, to plunge into the freezing cove. Mara is pleased she left the porch lights on.

It's a wide and welcoming wraparound porch, with twinkling fairy lights and tin stars. strung from above. Near the door, there's a stack of decorative presents wrapped in brown paper with rich-looking ribbon. Abundant evergreen garlands are draped over every window. The brass key ring with the charms and medallions is easy to find in her bag. Mara puts her silver key in the lock, and it opens with a satisfying click. When she crosses the threshold, she is struck by how cozy it is inside and how good it feels to be in one's own sweet home.

Sitting on the upholstered bench, Mara removes her heavy boots and thick woolen socks, lining them up neatly on the mat. Then she exhales from her belly. with a sense of contentment and delight. She hangs her coat by the gold-framed mirror and pauses at her red-cheeked reflection, smiling. It's a snug two-story house, white with grey shutters. It tends to be warm in the winter, cool in summer, and always filled with sunlight during the day.

Mara lights a few white candles on the sideboard and turns on the electric candles in all the windows. She lights the hurricane lamp. and turns on the electric fire. Next, she plugs in the great balsam tree. It's covered with twinkling white lights, heirloom ornaments, cranberry and popcorn garlands, dried orange slices,

and a bright star on top. Mara puts the kettle on and curls up on the overstuffed love seat in the kitchen. She takes a few minutes to simply breathe, grounding herself in the sights and smells of the home and the holidays. It's good that it only lasts a few weeks, she thinks. It is ephemeral, otherwise it would not be so special. As she breathes in, she smells her neighbour's wood-burning stove, and the scents of cloves and orange. Unlatching a large glass jar, she scoops a heaping a heaping spoonful of dried sage and rosemary from the summer garden.

Then she pours boiling water over a strainer into a porcelain teapot. Fine things ought to be regularly used, thinks Mara. These leaves don't need to steep for long. She uses a wooden dipper to stir in cranberry honey, which adds the perfect amount of sour and sweet to the steaming mug of herbal tea. Sage is for wisdom and opening the throat, she thinks, and Rosemary for remembrance. Mara takes a sip of the wonderful brew that sustains her all throughout winter. For a moment, she is reminded of summer.

She fills the sun on her face and dirt under her nails, and smells the fertile earth. She planted the sage at midsummer, outside in the garden, at this very hour, barefoot in the heat. How amazing to be alive on this earth with its seasons, and to get to experience each one so deeply. Mara has an entire hour stretching before her to putter around the house, to meditate, read, water the plants, listen to music, weave, or play guitar, or simply sit by the tree. She likes to look closely at each ornament and recall where it came from, where she was and how she felt when she bought or acquired it. It is sort of like time travel.

Each pretty object is a portal that lets her fall through time. Reminiscing and traditions are such an important part of the holiday season, thinks Mara. To look back at where you were, to wonder where you were, to wonder where you were. you are heading and to be exactly where you are. She carefully places a nut king coal record on the turntable and gently moves the arm, sitting the needle lightly on the outermost track. Settling into a comfy the armchair with a soft woven blanket that smells faintly of cedar. And with a pot of tea and a plate of iced ginger cookies on the table, Mara experiences a moment of true bliss.

The clock strikes six. A liminal hour. well spent, thinks Mara. She gazes across the room towards the tree, almost as tall as the ceiling of the cottage. It is a potent symbol of renewal and life everlasting. The evergreen And tree reminds us there is always green life growing somewhere, flowering. It holds the knowledge, the promise, the certainty that spring will come again. After the winter solstice, the light will indeed begin its return. days will slowly grow longer. Even at the darkest time, there is cause for hope.

Mara went to the woods herself for this beautiful specimen of a conifer. Across the street from her cottage, there are woods of the softest. moss, tall pines that sway in the breeze, stones that seem to keep ancient secrets, and deciduous trees such as birch and maple. The trails are freshly cut by an old man on a small bulldozer. He mulches the wood from cut trunks and branches, and makes beautiful, wide paths through the woods. On a bright, brisk morning last week, Mara set out with her sled to select this year's tree. She walked through the clearing, past the stream, past the tree that was good for climbing,

and the tree with a low branch where the children liked to swing. Mara left the path to scurry down the hill, where the Atlantic Ocean was waiting. Water crashed over the rocks at a place called Roaring Spout. There, she grounded herself in the elements, breathing in the cleansing salt air. She took her bowsaw, a simple tool bought from the local hardware store. and got down close to the ground, working carefully to cut through the trunk with the serrated blade. It was soft and bursting with fragrant sap. Mara was on her belly touching the earth. She got right underneath the great tree and said a blessing as she safely took it down.

Afterwards, she was proud and beaming as she heaved the conifer onto a sled and pulled it home. Back in the present moment, Mara looks at the clock above the sink and sees it is time to go. She almost forgot about tonight's event, a favourite annual tradition. She adds a layer of long johns and another sweater, as well as thick woolen socks and a matching calf, purchased from the open-air Christmas market. Then she packs a jar of homemade marshmallows dipped in graham cracker crumbs, and a thermos of hot cocoa, which makes a perfect drinkable smore. She is meeting friends for a nature walk on a trail not far from home.

This wintry outing is based on a children's book by Eve Bunting called The Night Tree, and it entails bringing all sorts of organic food. pine cones coated with peanut butter, apple slices, popcorn, seeds and nuts, and even oatmeal cookies. Mara and her friends hang the food on a tree for the woodland animals to enjoy during the darkest part of the year. It is a simple and inclusive holiday ritual. Sometimes the group spontaneously breaks into song or one person speaks a prayer or poem. Mary Oliver is a perennial favourite. No matter what transpires,

it is a wondrous night, full of magic and meaning. Maro drives slowly, enjoying the Christmas classics on the radio, the silly, the silly, and the sacred. She arrives at the meeting point in just a few minutes. She sees many familiar faces, still recognisable, all bundled up. Some friends have opened up their car tailgates and are breaking out thermoses of coffee and tea. Some have brought sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, spiced cookies with white, white icing, and orange and cranberry cakes to share. Others have instruments.

Mara loves the sound of a fiddle and guitar under the stars. This is a merry group of old friends and new, young and young and elderly and everything in between. There are children with grandparents, multiple generations out for a happy gathering. Some folks carry baskets on their backs in order to collect firewood, pine cones or other treasures from the walk. They are high on a hill in a field, and must walk through a meadow into another copse in order to find the right tree.

Carrying torches and lanterns, they stay together, laughing and calling out into the night. Each of Mara's friends has brought something special. Ben from England always makes his own version of twiglets, a sort of pretzel rod made from spent grains. They have a distinctive and homey bakery taste. One also brews beer and presses apples for cider at his farm. He makes jam from blueberries that grow wild on his property and apple butter from his orchard.

Aura is a cheesemaker, and she brings rounds of silken camember and wedges of peppery blue cheese. Jacob is a luthier, and he brings his best fiddle to play, while his wife builds a great bonfire. Mary plays her ukulele, and Alden plays a Celtic drum called a boweron. Ashby's family is Wabanaki and has a cranberry bog. She brings small canvas bags of gorgeous cranberries as presents for everyone. Andrew forages for acorns and grinds them into flower, which makes the most wonderful pancakes. He also taps maples in spring and boils the sap into amber syrup in his hand-built sugar shack. The bottles are beautiful and the syrup is wonderful on pancakes, in coffee, or even over fresh snow.

There is so much heritage and hard work represented in this diverse group of people. The spirit is generous and all sentient beings are looked after. Mara thinks of the deer, the foxes, the raccoons, and the pine martins that track through this wood, as well as all the birds flitting over the trees. She hopes they are all well fed and ready for deepest winter. It's a simple thing, Mara thinks, to care for one another. It isn't hard to do, but we must remember. It is important to pay attention and carve out time.

This is what makes life meaningful. Sarah feels blessed to be able to do this. She walks purposefully, crunching over the barely frosted grass. The friends make their way into a thicket of not so tall pines. They pull out their offerings from their bags. they string their edible garlands and hang ornaments of food, gifts to sustain any creature who comes hungry. The friends sing to the tree, to one another, and to the animals. When they are through, they quietly returned to their cars.

After the revelry, before it gets very late, it is finally time to head home for the night. It has been a long, good day. Mara is sleepy, ready for bed. She has exercised and socialized and done all the necessary mental and physical work for today. It was satisfying and fulfilling. There is nothing more to be done. Now she can rest.

Mara feels tired in how she has. muscles and bones. On the car ride home, she fills the seat warming her thighs and back. Her little house looks so enchanting, all lit up. She says a quiet word of thanks and goes up the path into her cottage, counting stars up above. She makes a wish, and she vows to learn their names and constellations better in the new year. Inside she turns off all the lights but for the one over the stove, a private ritual she savours every night. She locks the doors and sets out the jar of coffee and mocker pot for morning.

Then she pads up the carpeted stairs in bare feet. In the bathroom, Mara turns on the tap and waits for the water to warm. She washes her face with a cloth and gentle cleanser, then pats her skin dry with a thick cotton towel. She then applies a light face lotion, moving her fingers in a circular direction. Mara always brings in tension to this nightly routine. Next she uses a bore bristle hairbrush she received last Christmas as a present. And then she brushes her teeth carefully, lovingly, and enjoys the mouthful of white minty foam. She rinses it from her mouth and then takes a small sip of water from the glass that always sits right there.

The routine itself prepares her for rest. The motions are so familiar, they are sleep-inducing. Her steps to bed are such a comfort. Mara counts them, as she does every night, inhaling slowly, and she does. and exhaling gently. In her room, the bedside lamp is glowing. Her bedtime novel is waiting patiently, a work of historical fiction by a favorite author.

The bed is a high four-poster. It's an inherited antique with a doubly thick mattress and box spring. The duvet is snow-white, as are the linen sheets, perfectly washed and worn in. There are six fluffy pillows and a grey linen bolster. Over the bed hangs a mobile of driftwood and stars, another gift. Under the bed, Mara's soft slippers are ready. for mourning. There is nothing left to do

or say except good night. Ellie couldn't wait to spend the evening visiting her great-auntie Jane. As she walked down the tree-lined avenue of the city street, a few snowflakes blew past her. The temperatures were frosty today. It was the perfect weather for spending the night in her aunt's cosy apartment, catching up over a hot mug of cocoa. This annual holiday visit was a much-loved tradition for both Ellie and Jane.

After a lovely evening by the first, fire, Ellie would sleep over in her auntie's spare room. Then she would have a festive holiday breakfast with Jane in the morning. She wouldn't miss it for the world and looked forward to it every year. Ellie pulled her scarf up over her nose. as the gusty December winds met her head-on. She didn't have much further to go. Her auntie's grand old apartment building rose up ahead on the corner. It was ten stories tall and flaunted the grand style of yesteryear.

elaborate masonry decorated the exterior with elegant details. Spaced evenly along the sidewalks of the avenue, massive old trees spread their boughs to the sky. Approaching this corner where Jane lived, always gave Ellie the feeling she had travelled back in time. Climbing the short, wide steps to the entryway of the building, Ellie pushed inside. As she opened the door, the wind ushered in a few lingering fallen leaves in a swirling cycle. In a swirling cycle, clone. Once she was in the hall, she stood in front of the old-fashioned directory on the wall. All the names of all the tenants were posted next to fancy doorbells.

Choosing her auntie's name, she pushed the pearly button for apartment 9C. and waited for the little beep that would tell her the security door had been released, allowing her inside. She didn't have to wait long. In moments she was standing in the old elevator, slowly travelling upward. This was a lift that was never in a hurry. Ellie smiled to herself, thinking about how many people had ridden in this elevator over the decades.

When the doors slid open on the ninth floor, Ellie's auntie was already waiting for her, with her door open and a broad smile across her face. She was delighted to welcome her niece and ushered her right inside. Ellie stopped to shed her warm coat and all her other winter things inside the hallway. After hanging them on one of the pegs there, she stepped into the living room with a sense of of anticipation. Jane was one of those people who loved the holidays, and her apartment always showed it. Each year she spent many hours putting up her beloved Christmas decorations. Her tree was covered in ornaments that dated as far back as the 1950s, and she still used the strings of huge

coloured lights that were popular decades ago. Jane was a music teacher. The glossy black top of her grand piano was covered in festive cards from students, past and present. The most amazing part of Jane's holiday decorations, however, was her incredibly detailed model Christmas village, which was spread out on white cotton snow under her tree. The village stretched for many yards, and she was spread out. she had added to it over the years. Every house, car and figurine was part of an elaborate story in this magical model village,

and Jane delighted in telling the tale to any children who came to visit. Ellie had always been awe-struck by the elaborate fantasy as a little girl. She had grown up thinking of the Christmas village as one of the best stories of her holiday. As they got situated on the comfy sofa, Ellie found herself wondering what had been added to the village this year. As she and her auntie Jane chatted about their latest news and shared some stories, Ellie found herself gazing at the cosy-looking scene with so many pieces she knew by heart. There was the train station where travellers stood eternally poised for arrival or departure.

And over there was the high street of town where busy villagers shopped, visited the post office and exchanged greetings on the snowy pavements. Slightly set back from the street was the village green and the sledding hill where a Christmas tree sparkled and two little figures skated on the frozen pond. Here and there, making little trips were antique cars and trucks, some containing tiny, wrapped presents. Ellie couldn't resist this fairy tale hamlet. Ever since she was a child, it had made her feel transported to a magical place.

Auntie Jane brought her a cup of hot chocolate, complete with two big marshes. Settling it down next to a plate of cookies, she followed Ellie's gaze to the village. With a sparkle in her eye, she offered to show her the latest addition to the town. Ellie happily knelt down next to the village and challenged herself to spot the new building. It took a few moments, but she found it. She declared triumphantly that it was the sweet shop. Jane clapped her hands approvingly and settled back in a nearby armchair, while Ellie continued to eagerly survey the cottony landscape under the tree. The sweet shop was now the last store at the end of the High Street, at the opposite end from the

train station and the village green. A small figure of a woman stood outside with an even tiny a figure of a child next to her. They were looking at the windows as if discussing what they would buy. Ellie's eye travelled down the street to the general store. She knew the little boy named Danny and his dog Buddy would be outside peeking in the the window. She liked to think he was scouting out potential Christmas presents. After scrutinising the village for a little while longer, Ellie returned to her corner of the sofa and slowly drank her hot chocolate, savouring small bits of cookie between sips.

Meanwhile, she proudly walked her auntie through the story of the town, showing that she remembered almost every detail of the festive scene. The night darkened outside the windows, and eventually Ellie and Jane realized that their mugs were empty and the cookies had been eaten. Soon they both found themselves politely yawning at the same time and laughed. It was time to turn in for the night. Elie made her way down the narrow hall to the snug little guest bedroom, which she'd slept in many times. A queen-sized white-iron bed filled most of the room with an antique oak dresser. Next to the bed, a sweet little side table, providing everything else she might need. She'd loved this luxurious retreat as a child.

The bed was piled with lots of big downy pillows. She'd brought only a simple overnight bag with her, so it wasn't long before she was in her soft pyjamas, snuggling down into the covers. As she rested her cheek on the crisp, cool, white pillowcase, Ellie watched the snowflakes swirling around the window pane, lit by the tall streetlights from below. The motion of the snow was mesmerising. It made her think of scenes from a ballet as if a hundred little dancers spun in frothy

tutus. Without even realising it, she dozed off to the light sound of the snow pattering against the glass. As imperceptibly as she had transitioned into sleep, she was slowly awakened. She had an odd feeling that she was moving, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. Then she realized she was hearing. hearing a tick-tock, tick-tock in the background. In her slightly fuzzy state, she thought to herself that she hadn't recalled Auntie Jane having a grandfather clock.

Then, more clearly, that her aunt certainly didn't have a grandfather clock. Opening her eyes, she was amazed to see that the scene outside her window was no longer of the snow, nine floors above street level. Instead, she was at ground level, where a train platform was sliding very slowly into view. Looking down at herself, she realized she was not in her bed at all. Rather, she was sitting in her pyjamas on a velvet train seat in an otherwise empty carriage. The movement came to a gentle halt. Surveying her surroundings in disbelief,

Ellie looked at her hands and then touched them to the window. As she did so, a small girl on the platform waved back at her extended palm, as if in greeting. Not only could Ellie see the platform, but the people on the platform could see her. Just then, the door to the carriage slid open to reveal a conductor. He was wearing spectacles and had his cap at a stylish angle.

This is your story. Stop, ma'am, he said cheerfully. Still confused, Ellie asked what stop that might be. Well, it's Holiday Haven, of course, he responded with a grin. Rising from her seat, Ellie looked around her. There was no luggage at all in the compartment. compartment. The conductor seemed to note her concern. Don't worry, you won't need any luggage. Everything you could want is here.

Then, tipping his hat politely, he disappeared down the carriage. Walking barefoot down the length of the carriage, Ellie reached the end and peered out onto the platform. A few people stood in small clusters here and there, happily chatting. Some had luggage, and others seemed to be meeting travellers or dropping them off. The little girl who had waved to Ellie was enthusiastically talking to the station attendant. He seemed enormously entertained by whatever she was saying. Stepping onto the concrete platform, Ellie was surprised to find that her bare feet didn't even feel cold. Strangely, everyone here was dressed warmly in old-fashioned cloaks and coats with hats and mufflers,

but all Elie felt was an invigorating freshness, the kind you smell in the air when fresh snow is coming. She wasn't the least bit chilly. As she tentatively walked across the platform, a few people nodded at her with a smile. Nobody seemed to think her pyjamas seemed at all out of place. This filled Ellie with a sense of adventure. She had a feeling she knew what she would see when she exited the train station. It was all rather familiar. Emerging into the street, she saw that she was correct.

Being left and right, she could identify every shop. Old-fashioned cars occasionally drove by, although not so many as to outnumber the pedestrians. She turned right and walked down the street, peaking into the festive shop windows, which were decorated for the Christmas season. The bakery was her first stop. Able to see into the window for the first time in her life, she saw that it was more marvellous than she could have imagined. The centrepiece of the display was a luscious cake that still stood three layers high. It was frosted with white butter cream and covered in perfectly formed sugar decorations that resembled

holly and berries. The cookies in the window were no less amazing. Each one was simply enormous, and they were perfectly decorated to resemble all sorts of wintry delights. Snowmen, stars, reindeer, and gingerbread people lay enticingly in a pretty basket, to perfection. It was as if the baker never made a mistake. A variety of decadent cupcakes stood on a tall stand nearby. She spotted chocolate, vanilla and red velvet right away. Looking at all this, she realized she was hungry. She walked into the bakery and was immediately

immersed in the delicious smells of gingerbread and brown sugar. As she neared to the counter, She was greeted by the shopkeeper, who called her by name, like they were old friends. Ellie, what can I get for you today? she said. Ellie surveyed the display counter, nearly unable to decide. Then she pointed to the cupcake stand and asked if she must if she might have a chocolate one. The woman smiled from ear to ear and winked knowingly. Your favourite, she responded, handing it to her carefully.

Ellie stood a bit uncertainly, wondering if payment would be requested. the woman merely waved gaily at her and told her to come back again very soon. Ellie waved goodbye, smiled to herself, and took a huge bite of the cupcake as she returned to the street. It was absolutely delicious. The chocolate icing was both sweet and salty, and it melted in her mouth like a cloud of sweetness. She was feeling more festive by the moment. Carrying her cupcake with her, Ellie moved on to see what was inside the general store. This was a building that had been in Jane's Christmas village, ever since Ellie could remember.

Just as they always had been, little Danny and his dog Buddy were outside. Hello Danny, Ellie said to the boy brightly. He turned to her and smiled. Look, buddy, he said to his dog, Ellie is here. Ellie leaned over and patted the little dog on the head. It sat politely, but wiggled back and forth with excitement. Ellie asked Danny what he was doing today. He told her he was waiting.

there to walk his sister home from the ice skating rink. Turning back to the window of the general store, he pointed at a model-train slowly circling the display and exclaimed to Ellie how marvellous it was. Indeed, Ellie agreed, finding the train delightful. Danny whispered to her that he had asked for it as a Christmas gift. Crossing her fingers in front of him, Ellie said she hoped he'd get what he wished for. Danny smiled and nodded his head confidently.

He knew he had been very good that year. Ellie told Danny that she was going into the store and waved goodbye, saying she might see him in a little while at the skating rink. She pushed open the front door, and a small silver bell rang to announce her entrance. A smartly dressed man behind the counter looked up from a ledger and greeted her by name. Nodding a friendly hello in response, she looked around the interior of the store. It was just as she had imagined. Dark wooden shelves rose along the walls to the ceiling. which was covered in punched tin tiles.

Each part of the shop had its purpose. Bolts of cloth in a rainbow of colours were neatly arranged in one corner. Grocery staples, such as flour and sugar, were carefully shelved in another. Boxes full of sewing essentials, household tools, and all manner of useful items could be seen in tidy displays. No space was wasted. Ellie got the feeling that she could find just about anything she needed in the charming store. As she was about to leave, the owner called out to her and held out a soft green scarf. You'll be needing this, he said kindly.

She took it and thanked him. He waved at her as if it was nothing, and she left the store behind. behind her, winding the pretty scarf loosely around her neck. It matched her pajamas perfectly. Danny was gone when she came outside, but she could see a woman and a little girl in front of the new sweet shop. They went inside before she was inside before she got to the shop, but their spot at the window was quickly taken by a jolly cluster of children. They were soon pointing at various items in the window display and giggling amongst themselves. As she walked up, they greeted her. Hello Ellie, they called her.

L'I couldn't hide her smile and asked them what they were talking about. It seemed they were debating the virtues of various sweets. The display was truly a mouth-watering one. Striped candy canes spilled merrily from an enormous jar. Some were just red and white, while others also had green stripes. Large glass containers also featured pretty wrapped lollipops. Just looking at them, Ellie was fairly sure she could identify butterscotch and peppermints. Others appeared to be fruity flavours, glistening from their jars in ruby red, emerald green, and royal purple.

A large bowl of gumdrops appeared too lovely to eat. Each sweet was perfectly formed and dusted uniformed. with pearly sugar. Standing on their own were several chocolate santas of various sizes, wrapped in colourful foil. Ellie went into the shop, leaving the gaggle of children outside. A motherly woman in an apron greeted her and asked what she would like. Ellie requested a bag of gumdrops, and the lady happily complied. Taking a large silver scoop spoon, she filled the brown envelope nearly to the top, folded it over,

and handed it straight across the counter. Ellie thanked her, and she nodded, saying, of course, Merry Christmas. Returning to the front steps, she held out to the bag to the children. They crowded around with delight, each one carefully, carefully selecting a sweet from the bag. Ellie popped one into her mouth and savoured the sugary chewiness. Watching the children, she chuckled at the lot of them, all with the same look of happy concentration on their faces.

Gumdrops were delicious, but they took some work to eat. Ellie handed the remainder of the bag to the oldest girl and told them to enjoy the rest. Bobbing their knitted hats up and down in thanks, the children turned and moved down the street. towards the village green, dipping into the bag and chattering amongst themselves as they went. Smiling at their childish glee, Ellie followed in the same direction.

As she did, she passed the village post office. With its red trim, and peaked roof. This was the most darling post office she had ever seen. It was a very busy time of the year for the postal service. There was a steady stream of cheerful patrons going in and out of the front door. Most of them were carrying packages wrapped in brown. on paper and tied with string. Despite juggling piles of gifts, they stopped to hold the door for each other, calling out warm holiday greetings as they passed. She noticed one woman was standing in front of the outdoor postbox.

She was dropping one brightly coloured card after another into the mail slot. When she was finished, she peeked inside just to make sure none of the envelopes had got stuck. She appeared satisfied and proceeded along the pavement. presumably to complete her next happy seasonal errand. As she passed to the post office, Ellie realised she was coming to the single-room schoolhouse, which was another crisply painted white building. This one, however, had a small bell tower, that summoned children to their classes.

School was not in session right now, but she could see a few grown-ups entering the building. The windows glowed with golden light. When they opened the door, a chorus of voices could be heard, singing carols in the door. side. She closed her eyes and imagined the biscuits and mulled wine that might be waiting at the conclusion of choir practice. Ellie savoured this image for a moment. She opened her eyes when she felt a few cold tingles on her face.

To her delight, a gentle snow had begun to fall. She turned and took in the entire High Street in a panoramic view. It looked as if the town of Holiday Haven was now cosy, it up inside a snow globe. She was so happy to be a part of it. The village green was calling to her. She couldn't miss the festivities she had seen from afar all these years. As she neared the village green, she saw the enormous Christmas tree first.

Glittering with an impossible number of sparkling ornaments and twinkling white lights, it soared into the sky. The top was so far away that she couldn't imagine a ladder tall enough to put the star on. on top. However, in Holiday Haven, this obviously was no obstacle. The proud evergreen was dressed as richly on its uppermost branches as it was on the lower ones. crunching quietly across the snow in her bare feet she marvelled at how she didn't feel the chill bringing her fingers up to adjust the silky scarf around her neck

she was amused by the idea that she was covering up her neck but not her toes Then ahead she spotted the sledding hill Some of the children from the sweet shop were there dragging their old-fashioned wooden sleds Up the slope And then laughing wildly

As they rode swiftly to the bottom Danny and his little dog were in the middle of all the fun. Off to the side, Buddy was running up the incline and then racing the children to the bottom. When each ride was over, he would roll excitedly in the snow. and then shake it off again. A short distance from the hill, a few children were busily engaged in making a snowman. With impressive cooperation, they were rolling and stacking snowballs in graduated sizes. As Ellie watched, they managed to hoist one ball on top of the other until they had completed

the head. When it was in place, a little boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of buttons and a carrot. The others clapped with approval and then set about carefully placing the eye. items on the face of the snowman. Meanwhile, another industrious friend returned from the nearby woods with some sticks for the arms. In short order, the snowman was complete. The fun continued as children came and went.

After a while, Ellie saw that Danny had dusted the snow off of himself and left his sled with a friend. He slowly trudged over to the ice rink, where he promised to meet his sister. drew upon her memory, what had Aunty Jane said the girl's name was. Then it came to her, Ruthie. Her name was Ruthie, and the other little girl was named Meg. Ruthie and Meg were clothed in plaid, woolen dresses. and wearing capes with hoods. Circling the rink with skill,

they talked and laughed together, occasionally stopping to turn and go backwards. Danny watched him patiently, sitting on a nearby bench. He didn't appear to be in a hurry to end their skating, time. Nonetheless, Ellie realized that twilight was falling. The tree was glowing ever more brightly, made even more luminous by the cloudy night sky.

Ellie walked over to the bench and sat next. to Danny, who smiled at her in welcome. The two of them rested there, not saying a word for a few minutes. The snow had begun to fall more quickly, drifting gently from the heavens, as if each unique Flake was its own work of art. Danny turned to Ellie and said, I guess you'd better get going, or you'll miss your train. At that moment, Ellie knew that it was true. Somehow, she understood that it was time for her. to go back to the platform and take her place on the velvet seat in the train carriage.

Saying goodbye to Danny, she stood, patted buddy on the head and walked away from the rink. She looked back over her shoulder. and Meg had joined hands, and were turning slowly in a circle, giggling with happiness. As she made her way back across the street to the train station, Ellie heard carolers nearby. Looking in the direction of the song, she saw that the... They were pouring merrily from the open door of the school. Like a beacon, the light inside flooded out into the street ahead of them. Dressed warmly in fleeces and walls, they moved as one, harmonizing together to make beautiful music.

The train conductor was waiting for Ellie when she arrived on the platform. All aboard, he said to her, tipping his hat and winking in her direction. She nodded at him and smiled. Then she went up the stairs into the into the train carriage and easily found the seat she had been sitting in when she arrived. Even from the train, she could still hear the carolers. Ellie closed her eyes and listened, willing this moment to last as long as possible. Then a whistle blew. The train lurched ever so slightly, and the lights of the village green began to recede very slowly into the night. A thick veil of snow began to blot them out.

It fell so heavily now, and as she leaned her head against the soft red velvet of her bench seat, she sank into a warm and drowsy sleep, enveloped in its silent embrace. She didn't know how long she had dozed, but the snow was still falling when she opened her eyes. As she became more aware of her surroundings though, she realized that it was not the snow from outside the train window, Rather, it was the flakes hitting the window of Auntie Jane's spare room. Instead of the receding lights of Holiday Haven, it was the street lamps that were the source of the warm glow shining through the storm. She smiled to herself, with the realisation that her visit to the Christmas village had just been a lovely illusion.

It wasn't morning quite yet though, and she had time left to dream again. the soft bed and pulled the warm covers up to her chin, feeling cosy and snug. And as she drifted back to sleep, she was only dimly aware that she was still hugging a silky soft green scarf in her arms. I'm going to be. And... ...withal... ...that...

...that... ...the... It was Marie's favourite week of the year. Christmas was just a few days away, and New York City felt like the most festive place in the world. Her family lived in the suburbs outside the city, but tonight they'd made a special trip into town on the train. Her uncle, who lived in a stately brownstone on the Upper East side, had invited them all to a holiday party. Even better, since the revelries would be going on quite late, they were all invited to stay for the night.

Marie and her brother Fritz had been looking forward to this event for many months. Their train had pulled into Grand Central Terminal just a little while ago, and what a sight it was to behold. It wasn't her first time walking through this storied landmark of New York City, but she found herself awe-struck on each and every visit. The soaring ceiling featuring the constellations, the grand staircases, the countless people, swiftly traversing the terminal, on their own paths and with their own exciting plans, it never failed to impress her.

Now, in December, it was even more lovely than before, decked out for the holidays, Grand Central was putting on its most beautiful airs. Enormous wreaths hung in the arched windows, high up in the air. Every shop in the concourse was filled with gifts, snowy decorative displays and twinkling lights. and as Marie and her family exited onto 42nd Street, she turned and got a glimpse of the gorgeous facade of the building, similarly decked out. The Pershing Square Bridge itself had been illuminated in red and green lights for the season. It was a cold, clear night so far, and Marie swore she could feel happy electricity in the air.

People rushed by in the business-like way that New Yorkers always do, but there were telltale signs of upcoming fun. Brightly wrapped packages peaked out of shopping bags that seemed stuffed to the brim. Ladies who were wrapped up in woolly coats had fancy shoes and sparkly dresses that peaked out at the bottom. Marie smiled to her. herself as a man passed by, dressed up as Santa Claus. He was carrying a cardboard cup of coffee and talking on a mobile phone. It wasn't really business as usual in the city, and that was wonderful. Marie could have stood and people watched forever, but they had somewhere special to be.

Her father hailed a passing cab. Although they didn't mind a bit of a walk, they were all dressed in their nice party clothes. It seemed like a good excuse to splurge on a taxi. Squeezed in the back with Fritz and her mother, Marie was still able to enjoy the holiday sights as they crawled northward in the direction of Uptown. Even the residential blocks were glittering with lights and decorations, and there was so much going on at the street level where the shops and businesses were located. Food carts were doing brisk business in the holiday rush, and the restaurants seemed to

compete for the honour of having the most charming entryway decorations. Signs placed outside their front doors, advertised pre-feek's dinners, and that reservations were being taken for New Year's Eve. Marie turned and watched a woman who was walking a little dark. The dog was wearing a tiny set of stuffed antlers on its head. All too soon, the cab had pulled up in front of her uncle's house. Her mother had commented in hushed tones that not many people owned an entire brownstone anymore. Many of them had been converted into apartments, but Uncle Dan had done very well for himself as a high-profile theatre set designer. In the process, he had somehow been able to acquire

this building many years ago and renovated it to his liking. Marie and Fritz always loved visiting because the house itself was such an adventure. Arriving on Uncle Dan's doorstep was always a thrilling moment. They weren't even all the way up the stairs when their host had thrown open the door to welcome them. A bright light shone from the interior hallway behind him. Laughing, he stood in the doorway, stretching out his arms, as if to embrace them all. He urged them to come inside straight away and get out of the cold, and he promised delicious treats. Grinning ear to ear, Marie and Fritz took the top steps two at a time and gave him a hug as they scooted inside.

She and her brother knew their way around their uncle's house. They quickly took off their heavy coats, hanging them in the hall closet, and stuffed their gloves and hats in the pockets. They didn't wait for their parents, who were still standing in the hallway, talking to Uncle Dan. man. Instead, they went straight into the living room, where they knew that they would find something good to eat. Sure enough, a couple of their uncle's friends were enjoying a lovish spread, seated on his various velvet chairs and his overstuffed couch. Appetizers were beautifully arranged on trays with wheels of cheese, fancy crackers and cold cuts.

Tiny little sandwiches were elegantly stacked on plates. There was a punch bowl with something delightfully red and fizzy in it. Champagne glasses waited for a moment when a celebratory cocktail would be poured for the adults. Uncle Dan leaned over Marie's shoulder and told her to take anything she wanted, adding that there were lots of tasty sodas in the kitchen. She and Fritz didn't hesitate to take him up on the offer. They politely greeted the other guests and then took plates, piling them high with snacks to take with them while they enjoyed the run of the house. Then they raided the fridge in the kitchen,

each choosing their favourite drink from a tall glass bottle. Because they were often the only kids at the party, the two siblings always entertained themselves on the upper floors of the house. In fact, while the second floor had three bedrooms, and a very elegant bathroom. It was the top floor they loved to visit. This was the open space that Uncle Dan called his workshop. Although he puttered about in there sometimes,

it was really just a grand storage space for odds and ends that were left over from his countless theatre productions. Costumes, period-appropriate furniture from all different eras, and a crazy collection of props filled the open space of the entire third floor. Once inside, Marie and Fritz always passed the time happen. immersing themselves in a fantasy world where they could don any number of elaborate personalities. Marie might find herself putting on a sparkly gown and a fur cape, or she could end up wearing the front end of a horse. Meanwhile, Fritz could be lounging nearby on an old-fashioned chaise, wearing a monocle.

There was no end to the hilarity, and the time in Uncle Dan's studio always went by far too quickly. On this particular festive evening, Marie found a lovely set of fancy dishes and some heavy glass goblets. She set a table just for herself and Fritz, where they sat down with their plunder from the appetiser table, and dramatically toasted the event with their sodas. As they were enjoying their snacks, Fritz spied something new in the corner. It was an old-fashioned soldier's uniform. He jumped up from his place at the table, and went to examine the costume, exclaiming that it had a sword with it.

Intrigued, Marie came to look. Fritz put on the overly large coat from the uniform and placed the tall feathered hat on his head. While he was doing this, Marie was rummaging around in the shadows. She called out with amusement that she had found another good costume. As her brother turned to look, she jumped out at him wearing an enormous mouse head. He pretended to be surprised, and they both laughed uproariously. In a mock display of belligerence, he lifted the sword with ease, and poked it in her direction, commenting that it wasn't that heavy at all.

He handed it to her, and she easily tested its weight. He was right. The ornate prop was an excellent fake, but it was as light as a toy. Further amusement ensued, as Marie pretended to commandeer the sword. Fritz faked outrage and then laughed once again. With all there was to get into up in Uncle Dan's workshop, the soldier's uniform and its sword were eventually laid to the side. Marie took the mouse head off and put it down by the sword.

sword, saying it was too hot to wear any longer, and eventually both costumes were forgotten. The siblings knew it was quite late when their mother came to tell them that it was time to get ready for bed. Reluctantly, they cleared their empty plates and descended to the first floor to return them to the kitchen and to say good night to Uncle Dan. There were still a few guests lounging about, and the children knew from past experience that the adults would still be up for some time. Nonetheless, Marie and Fritz went upstairs to the second floor. With the murmur of the party, continuing below,

they got into their pajamas and brushed their teeth in the grand old bathroom with the black and white tiled floor. Then they slipped into the twin beds in the guest room that they always slept in after parties at Uncle Dan's house. For a while, the two siblings whispered excitedly to each other in the semi-darkness. There was a tall window between them and the moonlight streamed into the room, forming a rectangle on the floor.

Nessled in their beds in the shadows on either side, they recounted their favourite treasures from the evening upstairs, as well as what gifts they were hoping to get for Christmas. Then, without either of them noticing, a long pause turned into a lengthier silence. Both Marie and Fritz had dozed off. She didn't have any sense of time passing, but Marie woke later to a silent house. While she had slumbered, the party had ended, and the last guests had gone home. Thinking she'd like a drink of water, Marie pulled off her covers and swung her feet to the floor, observing as her toes lit up in the rectangle of moonlight on the hardwood,

padding silently to the closed door. she slowly turned the knob and peeked into the hallway. It was dark and silent, except for the quiet ticking of the wall clock that hung between the two guest bedrooms. Walking carefully along the carpet runner that ran the length of the hallway, She stopped in front of the clock. It was very old, she could tell. Its most unusual feature was a carving of an owl that sat on the very top of it.

She had been fascinated by that owl since she was little. sat silently and seemed to regard her, even as she gazed upon it in the darkened hall. Turning away, Marie went into the bathroom and got a small drink using one of the little paper cups that were stacked by the sink. Just as she was about to return to her room, however, she was stopped in her tracks by a sound from downstairs. The doorbell was ringing. Marie looked around at the other bedroom doors in surprise.

Did nobody else hear this, she wondered. Although the ringing continued insistently, nobody else in the house stared. It was enormously strange. She felt compelled to see who was there. So she wandered down the staircase. to the downstairs hallway. Stretching on her tiptoes, she looked out of the peephole. There, standing on the lighted front steps, was a very gentle-looking fellow in a soldier's

uniform. In fact, and at this point, Marie had to do a double take, it appeared identical to the uniform that she and Fritz had found upstairs, right down to the elegant feathered hat. As strange as this seemed, when the gentleman reached for the doorbell again, she pulled the door open to prevent him from waking. the entire house. The chilly December air rushed in, swirling around her flannel pyjamas. Putting her hands on her hips, she asked the man why he was ringing the bell at this very late hour.

On return, the soldier on the doorstep smartly clicked his heels together and doffed his hat, bowing in her direction. I am Hans, he said, I'm sorry to bother you, but I seem to have left my sword here. She stared at the young man, trying to make sense of what he was saying. She was sure she hadn't seen anyone like him at the party. Then, tilting her head to the side, she responded. There is a sword here, but it's in Uncle Dan's workshop. Wait here and I'll bring it to you, she told him.

The man nodded politely and stepped back. Clearly, he was prepared to wait. Marie closed the door quietly, her thoughts racing. She supposed she could show him the sword. If it wasn't his, he would go away. She scurried up the stairs, taking two at a time. As she passed the second floor, the clock on the wall chimed the hour. It was 1 a.m. Shaking her head at the oddness of it all, she pushed open the door to the studio. There, just where they had left it next to the mouse costume, was the sword.

Although she could have sworn it was gleaming in a way it hadn't before. It was almost like it was called. calling out to her. Crossing the room, she picked it up, and then uttered a gasp of surprise. It was so much heavier than it had been a few hours earlier. None of this made sense, but she knew that Hans was waiting. outside, so she didn't stop to puzzle over it. Instead, she headed back towards the first floor, carefully lugging the heavy sword with both hands. It took a while to get the sword down to the front

door. Marie wondered for a split second if the strange visitor would still be out there. Pulling the door open, she saw that he was on the steps right where she had left him. She dragged the sword over the threshold and rested it on the step. Is it this one? she asked, feeling rather out of breath. The man's eyes lit up and he grinned widely. His smile was charming and Marie was quite distracted for a moment. Yes, he said happily, that's the very one.

Taking the sword from her, as if it weighed practically nothing, he slipped it into a bout at his waist. There now, he said, I'm ready to take you out to the town. Marie watched in surprise, as he swept a low bow and extended his hand towards the street. As she turned her gaze to the curb, she saw an elegant horse and carriage roll to a stop at the bottom of her uncle's steps. the carriage itself was a shining white with a rich red upholstery inside the top was down the beautiful horse at the front was also white

looking every inch like something out of a fairy tale As she watched, a driver in a black coat and a top hat stepped down from the driver's seat and graciously opened a little door at the side. He tipped his hat to her and said, You're right, young lady. Although the night was cold, Marie didn't hesitate to walk down the front stairs of the townhouse, in her pyjamas. The pavement was cool under her feet, but strangely, she wasn't too chilly.

Stepping into the fancy carriage, she nestled into the place. plush upholstery. As she did so, the driver draped a warm, fuzzy blanket over her lap, and handed her a pair of soft slippers to keep her toes warm. Seeing that she was settled, her genteel escort, Hans, took a seat near the door of the carriage, and the driver clicked it shut. Turning to smile at Marie, the dashing soldier said, Well then, we're off. With a little whistle from the driver, the stately horse was in motion.

The carriage lurched ever so gently and began to pull forward. Marie noted with interest that no other cars whatsoever were driving on the streets. Even though she and Hans were riding through the streets of Manhattan, they seemed to be the only people who were out and about. The lights of the city were just for them, Marie and her gracious escort. Although she could have ridden in luxury like this for hours, the carriage ride turned out to be a short trip. The horse turned onto stately Fifth Avenue in a matter of minutes, and she saw that they

were at the border between the Upper East Side and Central Park. In fact, as the carriage slowed to a halt near 65th Street, she immediately recognized where they were. Hans stepped neatly out of the carriage and offered her his hand, delivering her onto the sidewalk in front of the familiar entrance to the central park's Zoo. Marie had been here before, but it had always been during the day in warm weather and with large crowds competing for space. At this moment the world was hushed and there wasn't another person visible anyone. There were lights glowing from within the zoo as if to welcome Marie and Hans and to invite them inside.

Eager to explore, she walked ahead confidently. Inside, she knew that she would find the sea lion pool. which served as the centerpiece of the zoo. Although it was cold, the pool hadn't frozen over, and it was full of lightly rippling water that glistened in the moonlight. She had thought the sea lions might be sleeping, but as she walked up to the edge of the enclosure, a few of them emerged in front of her. One, two, three, they popped up onto the rock in the centre,

and arranged themselves like a row of dancers waiting to begin a routine. As she clapped her hands together in delight, they answered, barking joyfully. You are welcome here, they seemed to say. We've been waiting for you. Then, as she watched, they wiggled one by one down to the water, and splashed under the surface, vanishing beneath the glittering waves. Marie let out a joyful giggle and waved a quick goodbye. She turned and saw Hans standing at attention nearby, patiently waiting for her.

With a silent smile, he indicated that they should walk in the direction of the polar circle. They were going to see what the penguins were up to. Marie need not have worried that she'd come too late at night. The inhabitants of the polar circle were ready to greet her. There were several different types of penguins living at the zoo. Marie had visited them before. She knew that it was the Gentoo penguins who were greeting her when she heard the loud trumpet calling up ahead. It seemed to announce their arrival like they were royalty. With somewhat more

detachment, the macaroni penguins sat nearby. They waved their large bills in the air, and seemed to be rather vain about the long yellow feathers on either side of their heads. It was like they were models in a fashion show, strutting with fancy headdresses on. Standing regally in the background was a king penguin, just a little over. three feet in height, but taller than all the others. Its orange cheek patches glowed in the low light of the winter night, as it turned its head, this way and that. Then, apparently deciding it was ready for a swim, it dived into the deepest waters of

of the enclosure, vanishing for good. But the best of the polar circle was yet to come. The tufted penguins began what seemed to be an elegant routine of synchronized swimming. Nearby, the famous Delacourt clock in the Children's Zoo began to play a festive tune on the hour. Marie paused and tried to identify it. She realised quickly that the song was Greensleeves. In response to the musical prompt, the acrobatic tafted penguins began an amazing synchronized routine.

With practiced ease, they circled and dived, creating a water ballet like she had never before seen. She watched in amazement, quite sure that no daytime visitor had ever been privy to a show like this. Did the zookeepers know that their penguins had these magical nighttime abilities? She suspected not, and she felt very privileged. On this night, Marie had a front row seat to some kind of magic, and she was going to relish every moment of it. She would keep the secrets of the polar circle close to her heart. Finally, the last penguin had disliked. disappeared. Marie stood there, watching the water settle and return to its glassy, undisturbed

state. At that moment, she realized that there were flakes of snow gently drifting around her. It was just a few, but they were enormous, heavy ones. She raised her face to the sky and savoured the cold tingle on her skin as they delicately landed there one by one. Now that the penguins had retired for the night, Marie turned to Hans and asked him eagerly if they might stop by to see if the snow leopard was out. Surely this would be the perfect weather for it. Hans nodded graciously and gestured at the rocky area of the zoo. where the snow leopards could be found. At first, arriving there in the dark, Marie was disappointed.

She didn't spot any of the beautiful cats and wondered if they were slumbering out of sight. However, just when she was ready to move along, Hans pointed at an outcrop above their eye level. There, one of the graceful creatures was sitting still, nose to the air air, as if delighted by the chilly night and the falling snow. Marie silently clasped her hands and smiled. The regal animal was a sight to behold. Like a ghost in the dark, its luxurious fur almost glowed with whiteness, its wide snout taking

in the wintry weather. Then after a few moments, it slowly rose and sauntered into the gloom. Its enormous tail, nearly the length of its body, was the last bit to fade out of sight. Hans allowed Marie to bask in the moment, until she was ready to continue through the winter Wonderland of New York City. Marie stood with her face to the sky, feeling the delicate caress of tiny snowflakes on her cheeks. After a few moments, she turned to Hans and asked what they would be doing next. He said he wanted to take her to see some ice skaters.

Marie thought that nothing could be more festive on this holiday evening. The soldier politely offered his arm to her and she took his elbow in her hand. Together, they followed the path back out of the zoo and headed towards Central Park's famous winter attraction, Walman Rink. Marie had been here once before when Uncle Dan had taken her out on a wintry afternoon a couple of years ago. They'd rented skates and he'd encouraged her

while she crept cautiously around the perimeter of the ice, gripping the wall and laughing almost too hard to stay upright. Tonight, as she and hands approached, the mood was far more glamorous.

The glassy rink was a light, glowing like a pearl in the centre of the park. Around it, there were dazzling replicas of Christmas trees, made entirely of white lights. These were in many different sizes. standing like cones, and they had stars on top of them. But the true beauty of the scene was the sense that it was one tableau nested within another. The rink was inside the circle of fairy-lit trees, which was within the environs of the night-time park. Then, most impressively, the skyline of New York soared above all of it, glittering in the darkness.

Marie had the sense of being inside a snow globe, with a world of giants watching the festive scene from above. But there was much more to see than just an empty rink. A cheerful festive carol began playing through the speakers. Marie gasped in delight as a line of skaters began to file into the rink. They were dressed in matching skating dresses made out of satin that shone with sequins. Atop each of their heads, they wore different types of tiaras and fascinators. No two were exactly alike.

Once five of these nearly identical, ice dancers had entered, a second stream of skaters appeared in costumes that looked like tuxedos. These smartly dressed newcomers fanned out, each arriving neatly at the side of a partner. What followed was an intricately choreographed dance. Gliding on the crystal clear ice with practiced skill, the couples swooped, spun, and jumped. Sometimes as if in a square dance, they changed partners, picking up with the next as if no pause had occurred. They did this with so much joy and an aspect of such ease

that it almost made Marie believe that she could be part of this dance too. To watch, however, was simply fantastic. As the snow continued to gently drift down on the rink, giving the trees of the park a sugary coating, Marie lost herself in the moment. She lost all track of time, and when the couples executed the grand finale, spinning faster than her eye could even find. follow, she was truly regretful that the dance was over. One by one, the skaters flew by her gracefully, nodding and bowing, as if they had danced

for a queen, as if they had been privileged just to perform for Marie and her soldier Hans. The two onlookers clapped wildly and cheered for the talented pairs, who seemed gratified by the praise. Then, as a new festive tune started up, the glowing eyestarches broke apart and began spinning and free skating, their program complete. Clearly, they were just experiencing the joy of gliding across the ice. Marie could imagine that if she were this good at skating, she'd be doing the same. Her reverie was interrupted by Hans lightly tapping her shoulder, clicking his heels together again. He asked Marie, if perhaps, she'd like to take a spin on the carousel. Marie couldn't imagine anything more delightful.

The carousel had always been a favourite destination for her in the park. There were usually a lot of families waiting their turn, and the ride seemed so short, but it was always worth queuing for. She knew it was quite nearby. Ready to move along, she skipped ahead with hands right on her heels. The little round building that housed the carousel was within her sight in moments. Like everything else in the park that night, all its doors were open, and it was a blaze with cheerful light.

The carousel itself was at a standstill, but the familiar merry-go-round music was playing. Nobody else was there, not even a person to operate it. But Hans seemed to have no concerns. Graciously, he extended his hand and swept it wide, saying, pick any horse you like, Marie. How could she choose? She'd tried to count the horses before while she was standing in line, but she'd never figured out exactly how many there were. She knew that there were two chariots, but sitting in a chariot that

didn't move wasn't so appealing to her. Marie would have one of the gently galloping horses that floated up and down as the contraption rotated. But the question was, which one? she admired the riot of colour. Bright green, yellow, red and turquoise, lavishly decorated every inch. And while she assumed not every horse could possibly be unique, she certainly had plenty of choices. Black horses, brown horses, or grey horses with spots. Each one wore a saddle, designed in a slightly different collection of primary colours.

Not wanting to waste another minute, she finally selected one of the black horses, and pulled herself up. Hans selected a grey one nearby, looking every inch the cavalry man. Like co-conspirators, they grinned at each other, sharing the excitement of the ride that was to come. Looking up, Marie gazed at the little coloured lights that dotted the ceiling, like the twinkling

orbs on a Christmas tree. Without any signal being given or any sign of how it happened, the carousel slowly began to move. Almost imperceptibly, Marie's horse started to rise before falling gently. The invigorating night air wafed across her face with more energy, and then they were flying. At least that's how it felt. They were propelled through a magical corridor of beautiful lights, a kaleidoscope of color, and a tunnel of enchanting music. The world outside became a pleasant blur, receding in importance.

As they circled on this ride, that seemed so wonderfully long, much longer than a normal one, Marie squeezed her eyes shut, and fervently wished that this night would never end. as the glorious ride came ever so slowly to a stop Marie rested her face on the cool smooth pole that she'd been holding throughout the ride she was happy but also feeling thoughtful the carousel ride was one show she could have done all over again.

She looked for Hans to ask if they might be able to go round just one more time, but he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, his entire carousel horse had vanished. Turning and looking around in surprise, Marie saw that Hans was now outside the ride. He was waiting next to his grey stallion, but it was an actual living, breathing version. The horse he'd been riding on was standing at full height, breathing vapour, and dancing lightly on its hooves. Smiling at her, he motioned to the saddle, and said, Let me help you up. Marie had never ridden on a real horse, but she wasn't nervous.

Siding off her own carousel saddle, she hopped off the wood-coloured deck of the merry-go-round, approaching Hans and his majestic ride. He held out his hand forehand. to step into. And then, as if she weighed nothing, he boosted her up into the saddle. As she settled in her seat, she looked around to adjust to her impressive new height. She had an intoxicating feeling of strength up here, with the tall horse underneath her. Marie was keen to find out where they were going next. Remaining on foot, Hans took the reins in his hand and signaled to the horse that it was time to walk. As it began to move, they headed northward, leaving the merry-go-round behind

for another lucky nighttime visitor. When she asked Hans what their destination would be, He said, we are expected soon at Belvedere Castle, where you are obviously the guest of honour. Marie was very surprised by this. She vaguely remembered the stately fortress that sat in the middle of the park, but she couldn't imagine what would be going on there at this late hour. Still, it was just another happy secret amid a night full of lovely surprises, so she decided not to ask any more questions and just wait and see what lay ahead. For a while, Marie simply wanted to enjoy the silence, gazing at the winter wonderland,

unfolding around her. As Hans walked northward, leading the horse, she watched the delicate white flakes fall on her flannel pajamas, and even tried to catch a few in the horse. the palm of her hand. She considered that she'd never known the city to be so very quiet. It seemed like nobody else was about at all, and the fresh blanket of snow further insulated them from the world. Soon, she saw a lit-up plaza ahead that she remembered as the heart of the park.

When they crossed under 72nd Street, she knew they were at Bethesda Terrace. When they emerged from the lower-level tunnel that went under the road, the red sandstone page of the terrace fanned out before them in an intricate herringbone pattern that was further decorated within lays of Roman brick. On either side of Marie and her companions, grand staircases descended from the street level above. The centrepiece of the centrepiece of the of this plaza was the Bethesda fountain. On past visits, Marie had stood in awe of the beautiful eight-foot-tall angel at its centre. But she didn't know anything else about the beautiful beautiful statue other than the fact that she loved it.

As if reading her thoughts, Hans offered a little history lesson. It's one of the largest fountains in New York, he said, 26 feet high by 96 feet wide. Her name is Angel of the Waters. and those four little cherubim underneath her are supposed to represent health, purity, temperance and peace. Hans smiled up at Marie as she gazed at the angel, taking it all in. As Marie sat there, thinking, something.

happened. Far off in the distance, a clock began chiming the hour. It happened to be 3 a.m. Now, and as she watched, the angel moved. At first, Marie thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. But then she saw that Hans was also watching. The angel gently began to flap her wings, as if she would take flight. She didn't, though. She stayed right on the fountain, with her hands outstretched, just as she always did. A few moments after the clock stopped chiming, she was still again, fixed in stone, and the moment was passed.

Marie looked down at Hans and smiled with delight. Did you see that? she asked him. made a face of mock uncertainty and responded with a jest. See what? I don't know what you could possibly mean. They both laughed. Hans made a serious face again and told Marie that they must be getting on because everyone would be waiting for her. She was puzzled by this comment, since everyone she knew in New York, was sleeping at Uncle Dan's house, and the park was largely devoid of visitors that night. Still, she was curious to find out what Hans meant, so she cheerfully clicked her tongue. telling the horse that she was ready to proceed.

At this moment, in the darkest hours before dawn, the snow stopped. The clouds parted in the sky, and the moon shone down, casting an ethereal silver light across the snow-covered park. Hans led the horse through the enchanting twists and turns of the wooded part of the park, known as the ramble, where Marie had often gone for walks that made her feel like she was actually in the wild. Now, riding high up. up in the air, Marie took deep breaths and then exhaled, watching the vapour dissipate in front

of her. The transient sea of the snow, this lifelike carousel horse, and even the moonlight made her feel like she must remember every sound and every feeling of this magical journey. She was on the adventure of a lifetime through the twists and turns of Central Park. As they neared 79th Street, the impressive silhouette of the of Belvedere Castle loomed above them. Resting atop the natural rise known as Vista Rock, it was an awesome sight in the moonlight. Like the grandest of gingerbread houses, it was frosted with sugary snow that also coated

the rock beneath. At the pinnacle of its tall tower, a flag waved lightly in the night breathes. Far from being dark and deserted, the castle seemed to luminously glow from within. Although Marie couldn't see where the light was coming from, it gave her the feeling that she and Hans were expected. Stopping outside the fairy tale fortress, Hans helped her down from the horse.

She turned and leaned her head against her. it offering a silent thanks. It whinied and briefly stamped its feet, then nodded its head as if to say farewell. Then the beautiful animal turned and cantered away. Perhaps, she thought, it was heading back to its warm spot on the carousel to have a well-deserved sleep. Turning back to Hans, she saw that he was standing on the steps leading to the castle. His hand was outstretched to help her on the snow-covered stairs. She watched her feet carefully as she climbed. When they reached the observation balcony at the top, she was surprised to see a large velvet

chair sitting right in front of her. And who should be sat next to the chair but the snow leopard? Like a willing companion, the beautiful wild cat was enjoying the crisp winter evening. Its enormous padded feet were politely placed in front of it, and the leopard's long tail wrapped neatly around them. The majestic animal looked for all the world like it belonged there. Hans motioned to the chair and said, would you like to sit down? The last event of the evening will begin in a moment. As she approached her, as she approached her,

it, Marie noticed with wonder that there was a carving on the back that looked just like the owl on Uncle Dan's clock. How very strange, she thought. How in the world had it gotten there? Filled with anticipation, Marie settled herself in the regal chair, feeling every inch a princess. As she did, she couldn't resist stroking the soft fur of the leopard at her side. The cat seemed to appreciate her attention, closing its eyes and looking comfortable. As she gazed around again, Marie was surprised to see the satin-clad skaters file onto the balcony as well. one of them put a sparkling tiara on her hair one another wearing a tuxedo offered her a warm soft blanket for her lap enchanted by the diamond headpiece marie reached up and gently touched its contours with her hand

Then she centred it securely on her head, sitting up proudly. As she did, another of the skaters appeared, holding a tray with a steaming cup of hot chocolate on top. Marie hadn't even realised how much she wanted to. a hot drink. She held the cup of cocoa up to her face and warmed her rosy nose and cheeks with the steam before sipping its sweet goodness. While she was luxuriating in her velvet chair, she again heard the sound of the Delacourt clock. It was playing a beautiful carol that she couldn't quite identify. She knew she was too far north to be hearing the clock all the way from the zoo,

but like everything else that had happened that evening, She knew some type of magic must be involved. Then, in time to the music, the tufted penguins suddenly waddled into view on the great lawn in front of the castle. First running in a large circle, then dividing into a figure, of eight, and finally turning, they all stopped and flapped their wings exuberantly. Marie clapped her own hands with enthusiasm. Having said their farewell, the penguins filed out of sight inner line, disappearing into the shadows. Before she had time to comment, Han said,

look over there on the turtle pond. While Marie had been watching the penguins, the beautiful ice dancers had vanished, and they were now skating in peasant. pairs under the moonlight. Magically frozen solid, the lake was as glossy as a mirror, reflecting their every move as they drifted from one elegant pose to another. They spread out into a large V shape, with the skaters in dresses on one side, and the tuxedo-clad ones on the other, and they all took a sweeping bow.

Marie clapped once again. Waving, the graceful performers turned away and skated out of sight. They had finished their performances for the night. Marie turned back to the Great Lawn and was amazed to see a long line of carousel horses gaily trotting across it in formation. A smaller circle formed inside a larger circle just like on the carousel.

Then, in an imitation of the merry-go-round, they circled, jumping every so often, and eventually coming to a halt. They all turned to face Marie. Then, Each one of them dropped into a low bow, with one front leg extended, and the other bent towards the ground. Marie applauded with excitement.

At this, they stood and broke their circle, cantering off into the woods. As they went, she saw her own black carousel horse at the very end of the line. It raised its head and winnieed in farewell. Then it too vanished. Marie sighed. She couldn't imagine anything better than this journey she had been on through the park. As she turned to thank hands, he put his finger to his lips and pointed up at the sky. Following his hand, Marie saw the most amazing sight yet.

The angel from Bethesda Terrace appeared to be in the sky. She was hovering high up over the great lawn, backlit by the moonlight. As Marie watched, she spread her hands, but instead of water spilling out, beautiful sparkling snowflakes began to drift down. They fell towards the Great Lawn, and then suddenly they were everywhere. They were drifting and falling all around Marie and Hans. A gentle storm was blanketing Belvedere Castle, covering every inch with a fresh pristine coating of white.

Marie jumped up from her velvet chair, throwing the blanket aside. She began spinning in a circle, her hands outstretched, and her face to the sky. She was spinning and spinning, and spinning, and she felt like she was drifting away with this snowstorm. She was becoming the snow. But the moon above her became larger and brighter. It filled her with its cool illumination until she closed her eyes. And when she opened them, there she was, in her bed at Uncle Dan's house. And the light on her face was coming from the morning sun. It was shining through the window of their small.

bedroom casting an angular beam across the floor by her bed. Marie lay very still, listening to the silence throughout the house. Nobody else was stirring. She pulled aside her covers. and put her feet on the warm floorboards. Fritz was still in his bed, fast asleep. Marie didn't want the magic to dissipate just yet. She didn't want anyone else to wake, so she tiptoed across the floor very quietly. and went out onto the landing.

As she did, she passed the clock again, where it ticked quietly. The owl peered down at her. The hands on the face of the clock pointed to 7.45 a.m. She wasn't sure why, but she felt compelled to return to the studio upstairs. After all, it was where her amazing adventure had begun. Even if it had all been a dream, she wanted to see the soldier's uniform again for herself. Lightly climbing up the steps, she walked into the studio, flicking on the light.

There was the table where they'd eaten together. There was the mouse costume. The soldier costume was as it had been when they'd left the night before. before. She felt a strange sense of disappointment, as if she'd somehow secretly hoped to find something different. But then she caught her breath, for something was different. The sword was not in its place. Instead of lying by the mousehead, where she'd left it,

the sword was propped up next to the soldier's uniform, leaning neatly on the wall. And as she turned to go back downstairs, she saw one more thing out of the corner of her eye. Hanging on a coat rack by the door was the very tiara that she'd worn at Belvedere Castle, and next to it was the soldier's feathered cap. Now, some would say that Marie saw that tiara the night before, or that they had moved the sword and the cap and not remembered.

But Marie knew better. She knew in her heart that a dashing soldier had made her festering. stiff dreams come true. Picture yourself in a cozy, fire-lit room. You are little, still small enough to believe in magic. And tonight is the most dazzling moment of the Christmas season. with marvellous anticipation, you await the clandestine arrival of Santa, who will shower you with gifts while you sleep, silently departing with his team of trusty reindeer

when he is done. It's a good night for the sleigh, you think to yourself, as you watch the snow, The snow drift down outside the window. On the other side of the glass, there is a winter wonderland. But in here, a bubble of warmth surrounds you, filled with wonderful smells of things you can't wait to eat. There are pies, chocolates and bright candy canes to be enjoyed. Perhaps there are cheerful model trains circling a Christmas tree and your favourite festive

songs playing nearby. The grown-ups insist it is time for bed. You agree reluctantly, knowing that only sleeping children receive their visit from Santa. But first, you make sure to leave him a generous plate of cookies and some milk. And of course, there must be a carrot for his reindeer. In the morning, you'll be delighted to find that plate half consumed. The glass will be empty, and the carrot will be partially eaten. More importantly, your tree will be laden with gifts, and your stockings will be stuffed to

the brim with the gifts that good children have been led to expect on Christmas Day. After all, only very naughty children will receive a lump of coal. You drift to sleep, imagining that you hear sleigh-boughs. Before you know it, Santa will have come and gone. In that last waking moment of the evening, you are so very happy. If you didn't grow up celebrating Christmas, this may not be the familiar scene for you. But even if you did, parts of it may be different to your own experiences. There may well have been no white Christmas where you lived, or you may have been expecting

Father Christmas instead, for example. You may think of the red-cloaked man as St. Nicholas and expected to also be visited by the Christ Child. Perhaps you've left the jolly man Sherry instead of milk, or mince pies instead of cookies. But the image of the bearded, warmly dressed man, is fairly ubiquitous, and the sentiments are the same. It's a tradition shared by many across the globe. It's actually not hard to pinpoint the origins of Santa Claus as we know him. Most scholars agree that his roots can be clearly traced back,

to St. Nicholas. Although you might not have realized such a warmly clad figure with a sleigh originally came from Turkey. Born around 280 CE, the bishop who would become the Catholic St. Nicholas was said to have been a generous man who travelled around the country. tending to the sick and the poor, and giving away all his inherited wealth in the process. Thanks to various heroic and generous acts, he became known as the protector of many vulnerable people, especially children. Eventually, the church established the anniversary of his death as the feast day of St. Nicholas, to take place each year on December 6th. There is some debate about the actual resting place of St. Nicholas, but many historians believe that his remains.

were stolen by Italian sailors in the 11th century and taken to the Basilica di San Nicola on the southeast coast of Italy. In the 1950s, a facial anthropologist named Caroline Wilkinson used technology to reconstruct his image. Naturally, some assumptions were necessary. For example, she deduced that he had Mediterranean features, such as olive skin and brown eyes. There is also evidence that at some point, the good saint suffered a broken nose. But the picture that emerged in the forensic reconstruction of the real Saint Nick is a far cry from the Santa we know today.

In short, he was probably a lean man with grey hair and a fiery nature. After all, he was a defender of the Christian faith at a time when Roman rulers were against his religion. Without knowing any of these things about him, however, the people of the earlier centuries celebrated his legacy and simply filled in the blanks. His reputation as a patron saint of children made him a natural fit to be both a model of discipline and a bringer of great rewards for children who acted properly. By the Renaissance, St. Nicholas was enormously popular across Europe. Representations of him were necessarily creative, since nobody had seen him for hundreds of years. It made sense for artists to portray him a little like other European deities of a fatherly nature,

such as the Roman god Saturn or the Norse god Odin. As such, he acquired a white beard and some fanciful magic powers like the ability to fly. Due to these details, St. Nicholas evolved as a figure of fatherly benevolent. with a comforting, but strong, fatherly appearance. In the 1500s, St. Nicholas was challenged by the onset of the Protestant Reformation. Influential figures, such as Martin Luther, were keen to draw public attention away from the celebration of the Catholic saints. They were aware, however, of the importance of the December 6th gift-giving tradition. Sensing perhaps that squashing it would erode their popularity, they instead moved to shift the

gift-giving from December 6th to the holiday of Christmas. In doing so, they were able to assert that the gift-giving figure to celebrate was the Christ-child, known in Germany as Christkind. A historian named Jerry Bowler had some insightful and humorous observations about the challenges of transferring St. Nick's duties to the baby. be Jesus. In an interview with National Geographic magazine on the topic of Santa Claus, he pointed out that the Christ child was not an easy replacement for the burly bearded man who had become dear to the hearts of so many Europeans. For one thing, as Bolivoli,

puts it, the infant's carrying capacity is very limited. The logistical difficulty would be obvious to anyone nowadays. Even those of us who may have spent time in Germany, for example, where the Christkind is celebrated, will have also seen St. Nick handing out presents. But Bowler adds that there is a second role that the infant Jesus can't perform, and that's the role of disciplinarian. Not to say that St. Nicholas was a threatening figure, but he was known to carry a switch at times. In our kinder, gentler era, Santa Claus promises gifts to good children, whereas those

who are naughty are taught to be concerned that they may only receive a lump of coal. Once the Christ child became the bringer of gifts, he also needed a sidekick who could carry things, enforce good behavior. Because of that, stem pagan characters such as Ruklaus, which means rough nicholas, ashenclas, which means ashy nicholas, or Padsnichel, which means fairy Nicholas, stayed around as part of the Christmas tradition. In effect, two holiday characters had to do the work formally performed by one. While our later version of Santa Claus would be much kinder and gentler than these fellows,

the imagery around them would eventually influence the jolly man we know now. Furthermore, Protestant efforts to snuff out St. Nick were never completely successful. For example, people in the Netherlands especially were stubborn about keeping him around. It was the Dutch who were eventually largely responsible for importing his character to the new world. England was one place where a movement away from St. Nicholas didn't keep merrymakers from their beloved, bearded character. Father Christmas bore many of the characteristics of St. Nick, and his figure can be found as far back as the court of Henry the 8th.

There, he was represented as a party-loving large man, generally wearing green or scarlet robes, lined with fur. Although he wasn't associated with gift-giving until the Victorian period, he was strongly connected to joyful feasting and messages of peace. Additionally, he was known to drink a cup of wine or two. When the Victorian era re-characterized Christmas as a family-centric holiday, Father Christmas also took on the popular gift-giving role of the early St. Nicholas. For many modern readers, he is possibly best represented by Charles Dickens as the ghost of Christmas

present in the famous novel A Christmas Carol. Both Dickens' words in the book and the original illustration of the ghost by John Leach were pivotal in maintaining popular opinion about his appearance and his personality. To trace the continuing evolution of Santa Claus, however, it is necessary to back up just a little bit and hop across the pond to what would become the United States. St. Nicholas appears to have landed on those shores, along with some of his greatest fans, the Dutch, in the late 18th century. History.com cites newspaper articles from 1773 and 74 that mention some of those immigrant families

honouring St. Nicholas Day. Their name for him was Sinterclass. Up until the early 1800s, celebration of Christmas itself was not very robust on American shores. The Puritans were not holiday celebrants, and those colonists who did make merry during Christmas tended to keep the season as a somewhat rowdy and adult-focused party.

It wasn't until the 19th century that the holiday and cinder class became more established, merging together into a more popular, widespread. tradition. In 1804, a member of the New York Historical Society distributed woodcuts at their annual meeting of the season. The engravings the guests received featured Sinterclass, hanging stockings, gifts of fruit and a fireplace. Those settings are trappings of Santa Claus that would prove to be

enduring shaping the Christmas imagery we know today. Now if you've listened to some of our Halloween stories, it's possible you're already familiar with the writer Washington Irving He is well known for having penned one of the most iconic Halloween stories of all time, called The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. It may surprise you to know that Irving has also played a role in the evolution of Santa Claus. In 1809, Irving published a satirical history. of New York under the pseudonym Diedrich Nicarbocker. In this light-hearted literary parody, he called St. Nicholas the patron saint of the city.

Now generally known as the Nicarbocker history of New York, this work is considered to have been an early description of what would become our modern Christmas traditions. Despite this coalescence of Santa Claus imagery, the figure still took on many different forms as he transitioned from St. Nicholas to the recognisable figure that would come later. Scholars relate seeing him pictured as a mischievous fellow wearing a blue tricorn hat, a red waistcoat and yellow stockings, for example. He's also reportedly been shown as a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a pair of Flemish hose. Jerry Boler, the aforementioned Santa historian, said that he remembered seeing one illustration where Santa looked exactly like George Washington and was riding a broom.

However, Bowler points to the year 1821, in which an anonymous poem called the Children's Friend was published. Its drawings featured a Germanic-looking figure in furs, who brought gifts, but also carried a birch rod, presumably for discipline. This figure drove a wagon, pulled by one reindeer. But it was really the year 1822 that offered a major building block in the image of Santa as we know him today. For what Christmas-loving youngster has not grown up with the words, t'was the night before Christmas. was the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring,

not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their These words not only captured the magic of the perfect Christmas Eve, but they were also largely responsible for creating the likeness of Santa Claus. Although it was originally written for his own children, a poem first known as a visit from St. Nicholas was authored by a wealthy scholar, real estate developer and philanthropist named Clement Clarke Moore.

He wrote it privately for his own children, but a year later it was anonymously published in the upstate New York paper, The Troy Sentinel. The poem became an instant classic and was republished annually, finally being attributed to Moore some 14 years later. Even then, Moore denied it for decades, finally acknowledging his authorship in 1844. What is remarkable about a visit from St. Nicholas is the way in which it verbally illustrates the Santa Claus we know today. It goes like this. He was dressed all in fair from his head to his foot and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot, a bundle of toys he had flung on

his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry. His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him in spite of my Not only did it establish him in the clothing we now imagine, but it enshrined him as a jolly man rather than a strict disciplinarian.

Furthermore, who would our modern Santa be without his eight reindeer? Entirely on his own, more established Centre's entire team, naming them one by one. On dasher, on dancer, on prancer and vixen, on Comet and Cupid, and Donner and Blitzen, the poem says. The addition of Rudolph many years later would be the finishing touch, and one would like to think that more might approve. Christmas grew in popularity as a major family holiday from that point on, and the status of its mascot increased along with it. By the 1840s, newspapers began featuring holiday sections with prominent images of this newly popular Santa Claus, as he was described in Moore's poetry.

And of course, capitalism cashed in on the opportunity to fight. fly high on Santa's success. In 1841, thousands of children showed up at a store in Philadelphia to view a life-size Santa Claus model. The event was a hint of the importance shopping mall Santa's would eventually hold in American culture. children were eager to see the jolly man himself. This establishment of the trappings of Christmas is supported by an article published in England in 1853. It describes American Christmas customs to a British audience and included such traditions

as the hanging of stockings. More importantly in the evolution of Santa, it cited the appearance of a fabulous personage whose name varied by region, including Chris Crinkle, St. Nicholas, or Santa Claus. Stepping up to join, Clement Clark Moore as a Santa influencer. A political cartoonist named Thomas Nast further established the new look of Santa Claus in the early 1880s. This was when he drew upon Moore's charming

description to draw several likenesses that are now easily recognizable by modern audiences His images of a rotund, cheerful man, with a white beard and a bag of gifts, appeared in the magazine Harper's Weekly. But Nest took Santa law a step further, also picturing him at a workshop in the North Pole. He imagined his helpers as elves, and supplied him with the venerable and enduring Mrs. Claus to be his partner. In this way, Thomas Nast became as important in the history of Santa Claus as the man who set the stage with poetry. Interest in this version of Santa Claus grew in art and literature circles. Notably, author L. Frank Baum of Wizard of Oz fame published a book in 1902 called The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus. The tale imagined a fanciful origin story for the jolly character.

character. Most notable for modern listeners, however, was his plot point that Santa lived in a place called the Laughing Valley of Ohio, and that while delivering gifts, he would go down chimneys of homes where he was faced with a locked door. Other portions of the tale didn't survive as typical Santa backstory. However, the book was produced in a truncated version as a popular stop-motion animation TV special many years later in 1985. As the image of Santa Claus solidified at the turn of the 20th century, his European counterparts

began to sink up with the new friendly image. Father Christmas reigned supreme over the holiday in Great Britain, while Per Noelle was seen in France. The benevolent bearded man eclipsed the stern discipline-bringers of the earlier pagan traditions, as Christmas continued to gain a more family-friendly personality. Of course, this trend was not universal in Europe. Stalin was anxious to stamp out religious. observances, so he shifted focus to a character named Grandfather Frost, establishing

New Year as the gift-bringing holiday of choice in the Soviet Union. 1912 is the year that Santa Claus first appeared on film. He was played by a well-known actor named Liedem Bantock, who was also the writer. Based on a recent stage play, the silent movie shows a little girl falling asleep and dreaming that she has been whisked away to Santa's workshop. While later films have since become much more famously associated with Santa, this early gem was a pioneer in helping audiences conceptualize Santa's workshop. The scene showing his home base is a detail that has stayed with us for generations. We have Liedem-Bantock to thank for that.

24 marks a pivotal year in Santa's history, simply because he got his own float in the very first Mace's Thanksgiving Day parade in New York City. For Americans, this inaugural event of the holiday season has proven to be a lasting and enormously popular spectacle. Its enduring popularity was perhaps forever cemented in the 1947 smash-hit movie, Miracle on 34th Street, in which the existence of Santa Claus was proven in a court of law. the movie won three Academy Awards and has gone down in history as a classic. But before we jump ahead to the 1940s, there's one more important Santa topic to discuss.

Nowadays there is a somewhat incorrect assumption that our version of Santa Claus was established by the marketers at Coca-Cola, who prominently featured Santa, sporting their trademark red and white colors in 1930. While it's true that he starred in their ads, they were not the first soft drink company to use Santa as a mascot. Previously, he'd been featured in some ads by White Rock beverages, first for a mineral water in 1915 and then for mixes in the 1920s. We can see that the Red Cloaked Santa was around for decades.

if we trace the history in print. For example, Puck magazine was showing him in red and white in the early 20th century, actually featuring him dressed that way on the cover in 1905. And naturally, the artist Thomas Nast had started his costume. costume trend years before. 1937 was a notable year for our jolly friend, as Santa began to show up in person more and more, appearing in parades and stores. Charles W. Howard established the oldest continuously run center school in the

the world. According to the school's current website, Mr. Howard established the institution after becoming tired of seeing unkempt, unprofessional Santas at festive events. His first class at the Santa School had only three students. the business has endured for many decades now. Luckily, it has been passed on to new leadership and even successfully relocated from New York to Michigan. Now, finally moving ahead to the era of Miracle on 34th Street, American troops were partially responsible for spreading Santa around Europe in the immediate aftermath of World War II.

At that time, his jolly spirit was a perfect fit for the idea of American goodwill, as the troops helped restore infrastructure in the aftermath of the conflict. In December of 1955, the Sears Roebuck department store published an ad in a Colorado newspaper, featuring a direct phone line to Santa. At least, that was the intention. When the ad appeared in print, the telephone number had a typo. Instead of reaching Santa, the first child to attempt the call reached a colonel named Harry Shoup, who was manning the secure phone at the United States Continental Air Defense,

now known as NORAD, which stands for North American Aerospace Defense Command. At first, the colonel was terse, believing he was being pranked on a secure line. On the other hand, when the child became upset, he quickly shifted to pretending he was Santa. A short conversation with the child's mother revealed the error. but the phone number was out there, and more children began calling. Colonel Shoup fielded the calls as best he could, eventually assigning multiple airmen to play Santa as well. Then, on Christmas Eve, the Colonel called a local radio station,

and reported a sighting of Santa's sleigh. That was when the now-beloved Norad Santa Tracker was born. While it's not the only Santa Tracker to exist, it's certainly one of the most enduring. Today, the site for the Santa Tracker receives millions, millions of visits each holiday, making Santa's trip around the world all the more real for legions of children who watch it with excitement on Christmas Eve. The mid-50s were eventful in the history of Santa for another reason. In 1956,

a man named George Melakrino revived the idea of Mrs. Santa Claus in a popular song. A few years later, an author named Phyllis McGinley further established her role by publishing a book called How Mrs. Santa Claus Saved Christmas. With the concerted effort of all the imaginative people who created Santa's mode of transportation, his home workshop, his helpers and his elves, Santa Claus, as we now know him, was solidly in place by the time the 1960s dawned. And not much has changed about him since. The kids of the 60s and 70s were the first to see television shows about Santa and his reindeer that became instant classics.

And as the decades continued, the movie industry made Santa a fixture, featuring him in every possible type of film. He is such a star that numerous countries have claimed to be the home of his workshop at the North Pole. According to the publication The Canada Post, his base of operation lies in their territory within the postal code, H-O-H-O-H-O-H-O-A-O. Or you could say, ho-ho-ho. Playing up this theory in 2008, the Canadian Minister of Immigration and Multiculturalism awarded him Canadian citizenship, declaring he had the automatic right to re-enter Canada.

once his trip around the world is complete. The town of North Pole, Alaska, bears the motto where the spirit of Christmas lives year-round and is home to the Santa Claus house. There, people can take photos with the man himself, and you can take photos with the man himself, and and even post letters with an official North Pole postmark and Santa Seal. Norway, Greenland and Finland are among the countries who also lay claim to Santa's jolly home base. The jury is still out on which one is correct.

Perhaps he spends a little bit of time at all of them. In the modern Santa-loving world, his cheerful image continues to be a huge part of Christmas, which is now celebrated by many people who have no religious ties to the holiday. records are available for the most curious Santa-related goals, such as the largest collection of memorabilia, the longest-serving Santa impersonator, and the largest gathering of Santas. Although he offers a vague warning about lumps of coal for naughty children, his role as disciplinarian has become somewhat lost in the annals of history. Like the Father Christmas of old, he is now mainly a bringer of joy to children and adults alike.

modern spirit of Santa is well represented in a playful 1950s tune called Man with the Bag, which was popularized by singer K. Star. Full of exciting predictions about his arrival, the song sums up the enthusiasm for Santa with the final verse, which encapsual capsulates the happy togetherness he promises. The lyrics say, You'll make this December the one you'll remember, the best and the merriest you ever did have. Everybody's waiting, they are all congregating, waiting for the man with the bag. The Santa Claus we all love today were shaped partly by the winds of change and partly by the imagination of artists.

So, this Christmas Eve, whether you celebrate the holiday or not, you might log in to the Norad Santa Tracker. Or perhaps read aloud those famous words of the authors who envisioned the man. Because somewhere, the generous and gift-giving spirit behind the visitor in the red suit is there for you. Somewhere, the spirit of Saint-Thing. Nick is waiting to make your life just a little bit more magical and to bring the wonder of childhood back to your dreams. If you listen carefully enough, you might just hear sleigh bells.

We are wishing a warm and cozy festive season to all of Santa's fans tonight. Once upon a time there was a mother and her two children. They lived in a simple hut nestled in a beautiful forest, a long way from the nearest town. While they weren't a wealthy family, they had everything they needed to be comfortable. hut was sturdy and kept them dry during the rainstorms that passed in autumn. They had a fireplace and plenty of kindling, so they were always warm, even during the coldest winters. Down a wooded path, not far away, was a wide, rushing river. There they caught fish to bring home for supper, and the mother grew herbs, which she sold at the market in town.

The children were playful and loved their mother very much, and she loved them more than all the world, and wanted the very best for them. One day, the children were playing outside when it started to get very windy, The pine needles rustled on their branches, and the tree trunks creaked as they swayed slowly back and forth. The wind blew harder and harder. The whisper of the trees turned into a roar. It had been years since these mighty pines had dropped their cones, but it was time for new saplings to grow. And so, like raindrops falling to the ground, they let go of their pine cones, which tumbled to the earth below.

The children, who had never seen the cones fall before, ran to inspect one up close. It was small and hard, with tiny spikes on each one of its rough little nubs. the girl picked it up and held it in her hand how beautiful she said the boy nodded he'd found them on the ground before but never knew they were a gift from the magnificent pines they were an awfully small thing to come from such large trees after inspecting the cone from top of to bottom, the girl set it gently back down on the ground. She didn't want to take something from the trees without asking. As soon as the cone touched the earth, the wind blew a mighty gust. It picked up the little cone and tossed it end over end toward the hut. It tumbled on and on. The children run after it, not wanting it to be lost. The wind blew again, even harder

this time, and the wooden door to the hut flew open. The little cone bounced once, then twice, and then a third time, and landed on the earthen floor inside their home. And just as quickly as it started, the wind died down, leaving no more than a gentle breeze and the quiet whispering of the woods. The boy and girl ran into their home and closed the door gently behind them. There, in the middle of the floor, sat the pine cone. The girl walked over to it. and placed her fingers carefully around it.

But as hard as she tried to pick it up, the cone refused to budge. So the boy tried next. We have to take you back to your tree, he told the cone. But no matter how hard he tried to coax it into his hand, it just wouldn't move. As the children kneeled down to get a better look at the strange little pine cone, their mother walked in from the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about. The girl pointed to it and told her mother the story of how the wind blew so hard

it opened the door and brought the cone inside. The woman thought for a moment. and then nodded her head. If it doesn't want to move, perhaps it's best to leave it where it is, she told the children. After all, sometimes we don't know why a special thing comes to us, but it's meant to be with us nonetheless. And so, the children left the pine cone just where it had landed, in the middle of the earthen floor, The girl took one of her favourite shawls and wrapped it around the spiny little object.

That way it won't get cold, she said. The boy brought it some water in a tin cup. That way it won't get thirsty, he said. For many months, the children tended to the pine cup. They swept the dirt around it to make sure it had a soft place to rest and gave it all the water it needed. After a while it pushed small roots down into the ground and sprouted a thin green stem. Before long the pine cone had become a sturdy little sapling. In the spring and summer, they opened the window to give it fresh air and sunlight.

Week after week, the sapling grew taller and stronger. By the time a year had passed and autumn returned to the deep forest, the tree had grown nearly as tall as the roof, with full wide branches. One day, the children and their mother stood together and admired it. Their hut was small and the tree had become so large that it took up nearly half the room. The boy looked up at his mother and spoke. If it grows any bigger, it will go through the roof, he said. The girl nodded.

and if it grows any wider it will go all the way into the kitchen she said the tree was certainly very big and there was no way to tell when it would stop growing their mother thought to herself do you think we should cut it down the boy asked the sound of his question reached his mother's ears and and she sighed. But little did they know, his question was heard by another family too. Nestled deep within the tree, near the thick brown trunk, was a delicate web, and in that web lived a family of spiders. There was Mama, Papa, and Baby Spider.

They called the tree their home, loving and caring for it just as much as the human family did outside. Every morning, Mama and Papa tended to the web, making sure it was strong and symmetrical. In the afternoons, they took a leisurely stroll together up to the very top to the very top to enjoy the view. They like to watch the human mother cook delicious meals in the kitchen, and the children play with acorns outside. Sometimes they would overhear snippets of conversation between the people. Over the last year, they'd come to know them very well. They knew the children's favorite foods and the mother's hopes and dreams. Even though the humans were enormous, the spiders thought of them fondly. And so, when the boy asked his mother if they

should cut the tree down, the baby spider gasped. He tugged at the web to get his mama's attention. mama he asked did you hear what the boy said yes i heard it she said what will we do if they cut down our tree the baby asked his mama sighed we will just have to find another home she answered so was the life of small creatures when the larger ones changed the world around them it was up to the little ones to adapt. This she knew. Mama and Papa loved their home in the tree. It was cool in the summer and warm in the winter. With a roof over their heads they never had to worry about snow falling on the branches or their web icing over on chilly mornings. They had everything they needed right here. If they had to move back outside and find a new tree to call home, their life would be harder.

But we will manage if we must, said Papa. That was the way of things. Beyond the branches of the tree, the human mother stood and thought, thought about her son's question, should they cut down the tree? It was getting very large to manage, that was true. But she remembered how it came to them. On the day when the winds blew strong, the forest gave them a gift, one small pine cone that had tumbled onto their earthen floor, and when the children tried to pick it up, had it not refused to move? In that moment, she remembered the words she had spoken to her children a year ago, and she repeated

them once again. Sometimes we don't know why a special thing comes to us, but it's meant to be with us nonetheless she said it had been decided the tree would stay in their little hut it would not be cut down deep inside the branches the spider family cheered with joy their home had been saved They could stay here in their beautiful web, safe from the cold, snowy winter that was to come. And it surely did come. The skies were dark and the winds blew harder than they ever had before. The nights were long and cold. Day after day the snow poured down from the sky

and left a powdery blanket on the ground it grew thicker and thicker and piled higher and higher soon it was hard to open the door of the hut the snow pushed up against the wooden walls the children and their mother shoveled it away as much as they could but every night it snowed more and their work would have to begin again it was a hard season for the mother and her children they had enough food stocked up to make it until spring but there would be no trips to town

for some time and so they spent the days and nights together telling stories by the warm fire the mother told her children tales of far-away places of turquoise oceans and warm breezes she told them of princes in distant lands and of magical creatures that lived in the sky. As she spoke, everyone listened closely, everyone, including the spider family. Deep in the branches of the pine tree, they nestled together in their web,

enjoying the warmth of the fire. They listened as her words carried them to places that they could only dream of. After story time was done, both the mother and Mama Spider tucked their children into bed and they drifted off easily with her stories dancing across their dreams. One morning, the week before Christmas, the boy and girl rose earth. Every year they'd go into town on precisely this day for a very special trip. They would follow the path to the market and find the stall selling ornaments, and with the

money from their mother's herbs, they would buy a string of decorations for their Christmas tree. The boy and the girl pulled back the covers on their beds and ran into the living room, where their mother was tending to the tree. It's time to go to the market, they said, tugging at her dress. But instead of packing up their bags and preparing for the walk, their mother shook her head. The snow is too high for us to make it into town, she said. said, and even if we could, this winter has left us without enough coins to buy any decorations

until I can sell more herbs. The children were downcast. Without decorations, the tree would be the same as always. It wouldn't look like Christmas. As the days passed and Christmas Eve neared, the children couldn't find the holiday spirit. They frowned at the cold wind and the snow for making it too hard to go to town. Even their mother seemed gloomy these days. She wanted to make her children happy and give them everything they desired. But this year it wasn't to be. On Christmas Eve, she put them to bed and kissed them each upon the forehead. Tomorrow will still be special, she told them, though doubt lingered in her mind. The two children nodded, and so the mother blew out the candle beside her bed and the family

slept, with the cold wind howling outside. Little did they know, another family had overheard their story. For days, Mama and Papa Spider had watched the disappointment settle upon the faces of the human children. They knew what it was like to be parents and want the best for your babies. On Christmas Eve, they watched the mother and her children go to sleep, and they heard the wind howling outside. It's so nice and warm here, Mama Spider said.

We don't have to worry about being in the wind and snow, Puppa Spider replied. And it was all because the mother had decided. not to cut down the tree. Perhaps there is something we can do in return, Mama Spider said. I know what we can do, Baby Spider chimed in. We can decorate their tree. What a wonderful idea, thought Mama and Papa. But they had to get to work soon, or they wouldn't have enough

time to finish before the sun rose in the morning. Through the night they spun and spun. They danced from branch to branch, draping their webs from top to bottom. For hours they worked together, drawing intricate patterns like the lace of a shawl. Just as they had finished the topmost branch, they saw the red glow of the early morning sun, beginning to push above the horizon. On Christmas morning, just after dawn, the children began to stir in their beds. Their mother yawned and stretched her arms over her head.

And then she sighed. remembering they had no ornaments for their tree she didn't know what to do to make her children happy today but she would try her best she got out of bed and went to wake them they opened their sleepy eyes and climbed out of their little beds together the family walked into the main room and the sight that greeted them took their breath away the tree stood tall and wide as always but instead of plain green branches it was covered in delicate webs

like paper chains, and draped off the ends like icicles. As the first rays of sunshine touched the branches, the webs transformed before their eyes into a shimmering gold and silver array. They were brighter than diamonds, and daintier than lace. the tree seemed cloaked in finery more wonderful than the family had ever seen as they reached out to touch the webs they found they really were made of gold and silver the children laughed and clapped their hands with glee at the beautiful decorations and the mother knew how great a gift this truly was.

Her children would want for nothing again. Up and down, she searched the tree to find who had spun such beautiful webs. Tucked away deep in the branches, she spotted Mama Spider, who looked at the up at her with pride. Thank you, she whispered, just loud enough for the little creatures to hear. From that moment on, she vowed never to cut down the tree with its glorious webs of gold and silver. Together, both families lived happily ever after, in harmony and peace. And to this day, you can sometimes find ornaments in the shape of spiderwebs, hanging

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