Walking with Magic

Walking with Magic

Christmas music filtered through the air. Snow flakes fell silently. There was no reason for him to be out on the street after all the shops were closed, but Harold wanted to feel the silence when the shoppers had gone home. He wanted feel the calm that descended outside the streets and houses, only disturbed by the distant clop clop of a horse drawn carriage returning home.

His home was warm and the aroma of turkey and mince pie curled in the humid kitchen. His children were busy putting the finishing touches on the presents, hiding their work from each other. In the morning all their work would be torn apart in the noise and excitement of Christmas morning. His wife, busy with her own preparations, had shooed him out of the house, aware of Harold's Christmas Eve ritual.

Every Christmas Eve night, Harold would take this walk in the silent night. His reason, which he didn’t speak of, was to see if, just maybe, he would see Santa Claus fly across the moon or through the clouds. Yes, he was almost forty years old, but the magic and spirit of all the Christmases of his childhood had never left him. He had never ever seen Santa Claus except at malls, parades and Christmas pageants. Harold was always grateful to the people that donned the red and white, taking children on their knees and offering just a tiny bit of the magic. Yes, it was all staged and from the world of ‘just pretend’, but it was a bit of fantasy come to life.

Harold wrapped his long scarf around his neck and buttoned his coat a little tighter. He was now the one in the family to don the ‘red and white’ and be that Santa Claus of Christmas magic. A job he looked forward to every year, even if he didn’t have a sleigh and a team of flying reindeer.

After climbing the steps to his front door, he turned and took one last look up into the night sky. Snow had stopped falling. Clouds had shredded and opened up the sky. Tonight was now clear and star studded, the silver moon rode high, tossing diamonds into the fallen snow. Harold waved and hoped no one was watching. Smiling he returned to his family, closing the front door gently behind him.

“For in every adult there dwells the child that was, 

and in every child there lies the adult that will be.

~ John Connolly, The Book of Lost Things