SANTA & THE MOST ENCHANTING WEEK IN THE WORLD.

A Christmas & New Year’s Tale. To keep ourselves dreaming...

I wrote this five years ago….for the still-dreaming kid in all of us…

I.

Santa Claus slowly sipped his hot chocolate. Reindeer-shaped marshmallows floated through a spiced chestnut-colored pool of steaming milky liquid. He sighed.

Mrs. Claus, bustling about the brightly-painted kitchen adorned with red, gold, and green tinsel; red, gold, and green tile; and red, gold, and green dishes brought him freshly-baked mint-chocolate-coldberry (a bluish-tinted silver berry that grew only in the Arctic, in sheltered crags of ice) chip cookies.

“It’s Reality Day, isn’t it?” she asked knowingly.

Santa Claus sighed once more. “Reality Day,” he said softly. “One week before Christmas Eve. When we have to take into account the weight of the gifts I have to take around the world to deliver to children everywhere so that the sleigh doesn’t tip over, the amount of food the reindeers need—Rudolph always swears he won’t eat much along the way or when he returns but he always does, in fact he eats much more because his flashing red-nose needs extra energy to keep guiding our way, especially at night over much of Siberia. Then there’s the weather, elves who get hurt because I reject their gifts, or because children don’t want them…”

He stopped and took another steaming hot sip.

He turned towards his wife, silver-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, and declared, “I know I’ve done it a thousand times, but I hate Reality Day.”

Mrs. Claus nodded, and handed him another mint-chocolate-coldberry cookie.

They both had no idea of the topsy-turvy Reality that awaited them today.

II.

Santa Claus sat upon his plush purple chair in his Christmas Office, listening to Grievances of the Elves.

Many of their complaints were the usual. Elves had wild imagination, and most unfortunately children never wanted their most creative toys, like an airplane you could hitch onto the ray of the sun, or a stream of moonlight, and then would fly high in the sky. Or a little nest you could tuck in a little crevice in a tree or a gutter of a house which was custom-made to attract a certain kind of bird. Or a tea-set made for rabbits and other creatures who lived in the warm concealed nooks of the earth throughout the winter.

One elf, named Honey, loved the Alice in Wonderland tale, and worked for three whole years on a tea-set with special rabbit tea-things upon which a bunny or hare would love to nibble at tea with a child. He’d even created a special chair with rabbit-bottom-shaped cushions. He tested it out with Arctic hares and it was a hit. (They especially liked purple carrot tea and cucumber-basil sandwiches.)

He was dismayed to hear that not a single child wanted it.

“I’m sorry Honey,” said Santa Claus, scanning his long list for a third time, “but children don’t want to have tea with a rabbit. Or hare. Or bunny.”

“But why not?” asked Honey, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Rabbits have fascinating tales to tell; all their tunnels are interconnected and they are constantly traveling from one country to another underground. No passport checks. Rabbits around the world have learned a lot about one another this way, without any wars.”

Santa Claus scratched his head. These elves irritated him sometimes. Far too sensitive.

He ventured an idea which he knew the elf would reject. “Instead of a rabbit, how about a robot? Tea with robots? With rabbit-robots? A child might like that nowadays.”

As Santa Claus knew he would, Honey burst into tears and ran away.

Another elf waiting in the Grievance Line approached Santa.

Suncloud. Santa’s weather-elf.

Santa sighed—in relief this time. This would be easy. No complaints. Just the weather. Which Santa could handle, as he was a certified expert sleigh-driver with centuries of experience in dealing with the caprices of the upper atmosphere.

“Hello Suncloud,” Santa boomed in a loud, friendly, voice, “What’s the weather for my Christmas ride around the world?”

Suncloud took his time before responding. He was a quizzical elf; his father Silver Star had named his boy Suncloud because the boy’s temperament constantly wavered between sun and storms. As he grew older he learned to manage his mood-swings, but he still seemed to carry, if not the weight of the world upon his shoulders, the earth’s incessantly shifting winds, clouds, sunlight, and stars, in his being. He thought carefully before smiling; and anyone who knew him well knew his smile was never facetious. It carried a lot of gravity, and he meant it with his whole heart.

To Santa’s great surprise, Suncloud shook his head before speaking and said something Santa never expected to hear, and indeed had never heard in his entire life.

“Santa,” said Suncloud in a trembling voice, “I am sorry. I hate to tell you this. Because I know millions of children around the world will be disappointed. But I don’t think you should go on your sleigh ride around the world this year.”

Santa Claus looked at Suncloud, stunned. “Not go on my sleigh ride?” he asked, in a tone of shock. “But why not? Whatever the weather is, we—my trusty reindeer and I—can handle it. We’ve gone through storms and stillness before. All the same to us.”

But Suncloud shook his head. “This year…things are different. First of all, our territory is melting. Many elves have had to move to higher ground because the icecaps are collapsing into the ocean.”

Santa nodded. He knew that. Such climactic events—caused, of course, by humans—were engendering food-shortages as well; Mrs. Claus knew very well that this year might be the last for mint-chocolate-coldberry cookies.

Suncloud continued. “I think this is causing my main source of concern: the winds. The winds are wild in the upper atmosphere, especially above the Arctic. They have never been so wild. I think it’s because…” he stopped, as if embarrassed.

Santa Claus knew what the worried elf was going to say. But he wanted him to say it. He liked it when elves were brave.

Suncloud looked at him, and swallowed. “Santa, I think the winds are wild because…well, they are angry. They are angry at what’s happening to the earth. The icecaps melting. The Amazon losing ground. Monarch butterflies, birds, and bees disappearing! Although the elves are scared of bees. And…and we are glad they choose not to live up here.” He paused, shivered at the idea of being stung by an angry bumblebee, and added, “Santa, can winds be angry at something like that? It’s just a feeling I have but I don’t…I don’t know for sure.”

Santa Claus nodded. He didn’t say anything for a while, as he was lost in a memory, of riding a sleigh around the world after humans had fought a disastrous war with each other…which war was it? He couldn’t keep track.

But during that war, the winds had been especially difficult to handle. Suncloud’s father, Silver Star, had warned him of the winds then. But Santa had been able to maneuver the reindeer through their tantrums. He had, of course, been younger then.

“The winds do get angry,” he answered, “as they have every right to. The earth is theirs too. Are they really so angry this year?”

Suncloud nodded. “Terribly so. I don’t think the reindeer will be able to manage the velocity of the wind. Donner mentioned his doubts to me. Blixen concurred.”

“Has Rudolph said anything?”

Suncloud shook his head. “Rudolph wants you to decide. If you wish to fly on Christmas Eve, he will fly and guide the reindeer through the darkness to the best of his ability.” He paused, adding, “I advise you, as my esteemed father would’ve done, to not fly on Christmas Eve.”

All the elves gathered whispered among themselves. Santa not fly on Christmas Eve? What was the world coming to?

Santa remained silent for a long while. Finally, he asked, “What do you propose to do? Delay Christmas until the winds have died down? They will, for a while. Even winds get tired. Or not fly at all?”

Suncloud shook his head. He looked a little more confident now. “We propose something else.” A small group of elves skipped up next to Suncloud. “We’ve thought long and hard on this. And we propose to give not just children—but adults---the most enchanting Christmas they could ever have imagined.”

Santa looked at the elves in confusion. “But how? You just told me not to fly the reindeer.”

Suncloud nodded earnestly. “That’s right. Don’t fly the reindeer. Instead, let me introduce you to…” He turned around.

To Santa’s great surprise, a trio of birds flew into the room.

A small orange-billed clownish bird, a regal gray bird, and a pure white owl.

“Santa,” said Suncloud, “Let me introduce you to Mr. Fluff, the puffin, Signora Alessandra, the gyrfalcon, and Sir Ookpik the snowy owl.”

All the birds bowed their heads. Mr. Fluff puffed out his feathers as well.

“Good to meet you,” said Santa. “But what are these birds going to do on Christmas Eve? They can’t distribute presents like my reindeer can. They’re not strong enough to pull a sleigh.”

Suncloud nodded. “We know. But instead of presents this year, we have something else to give children—and, as I said, adults. I’d like you to meet my partner in this endeavor, Spearmint.”

Before Spearmint could come forward, Santa interrupted once more. “But the winds? Can the birds handle the violence of the winds?”

Mr. Fluff, Signora Alessandra, and Sir Ookpik started at Santa in patent disbelief. “Signor Santa,” Signora Alessandra drawled, “Our skin—not to mention our feathers-- is kin with the winds. No need to doubt us.” she announced, primly.

“Sorry,” muttered Santa, who couldn’t believe he was apologizing to a bird.

Spearmint stepped forward, briskly, cheerily. She was a lovely elf, clad in a mint green elf skirt and jacket, mint-green earrings, and mint-green boots lined with thick Arctic hare fur (which the Arctic hares gave her when they trimmed themselves).

She wore bright berry-red lipstick. “Santa,” she said, smiling, “My team—” she turned around, to introduce eight elves. “My team, Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, and Do the 2^nd, have been working on something with which to enchant everyone on the earth. Show them, Do.”

Do, dressed in red, stepped forward, and opened her little palm. She spoke in a medium-toned, clear voice, “Look Santa. These are magic seeds.”

Santa looked into her palm. Small red oval seeds glittered in her little hands.

Re, suited in orange, stepped forward. “I present you more magic seeds Santa,”. She opened her palm. Orange seeds glittered in her fist.

Mi stepped forward with yellow seeds. Fa with green. So with blue, La with indigo, Ti with violet, and finally Do the 2^nd with white.

Spearmint spoke, sweetly, cleanly, crisply. “Santa, each of these seeds will lend real enchantment to the earth for one week. The green seeds, when dropped upon the Amazon, will make trees swiftly grow where they have been cut down. Blue and indigo seeds will bring rain to places in the earth which are suffering terrible drought. White seeds will dissolve all the plastic in the oceans, streams, and rivers, and make it vanish. Red seeds will both calm fires and remove darkness in all countries—from world leaders to their peoples. Orange and yellow seeds will spread sunshine, hope, and determination for change in countries filled with poverty and misery. And violet seeds will be spread everywhere to bring peace to people.”

“People are terribly anxious Santa,” added Suncloud.

Spearmint continued, before Santa could speak. “And we have an army of birds to spread the seeds everywhere. Albatross will join us too. These—Mr. Fluff, Signora Alessandra and Sir Ookpik—are the volunteer leaders. But other birds will join us.”

Suncloud jumped in. “So will whales, dolphins, and fish. They will spread the white seeds throughout all the oceans and waterways.”

Spearmint concurred. “Obviously they couldn’t come to our meeting but are waiting just outside, in the Arctic Sea.”

“Do these seeds really work?” asked Santa, startled by this burst of elf ingenuity.

Spearmint and her group all nodded. “Yes, we have tried them in our laboratory under-ice. They work.”

“So that’s it?” asked Santa, snapping his fingers on his right hand, “Like that, in one week, the earth is healed? Peace everywhere?”

The group suddenly fell silent.

No one said a word for a while.

Finally Suncloud spoke. “Well, it’s not that easy,” he admitted. “These seeds won’t bring permanent peace to everything and everyone in one week. What they will do though is”—

Spearmint interrupted him, her voice glittering with excitement, her eyes dancing with adventure. “What Suncloud means is, the seeds will bring peace to everything and everyone in one week. They will. We are sure of that. We have been working on these for years.”

“Like that?” Santa snapped his fingers, again, bewildered. “World peace?”

Spearmint shook her head. “The seeds will work. But only for one week. They are extremely potent. They will work. But no matter how we tried, we could not get them to work permanently. The effect starts fading after one week.”

Ah. There was the catch. There was always a catch. Santa stroked his beard, and thought.

Not an elf—nor an arctic bird—said a word. Although Alessandra ruffled her feathers and Fluff hopped about. Ookpik just watched Santa with pointed stern eyes.

Spearmint spoke, refreshingly, “What we believe Santa, is that after one week, humans will have experienced such beauty, and such peace, that they will put forth the effort to take care of the earth—and to take care of each other. That’s what we believe.” She added, “And one week after Christmas is New Year’s Day. They will begin the New Year on a sparkling clean, green, and blue slate.” She giggled.

Suncloud added, “We believe they’ve been bombarded with terrible weapons and horrible news for so long that they have no idea what real starlight, or pure water is like. We want them to experience phenomenal beauty, magical groves of trees flowers and birds, pristine oceans, --once they do, they will never go back to the way things were.”

Santa sighed. He hated to admit that he did not hold the same hopes Suncloud, Spearmint, and her melodic group held. He, after all, was a human. Or, somewhat human. A Christmas species of human. He knew humans. And therefore he was not all that hopeful.

That’s why he only worked with children. And elves.

And, of course, reindeer.

Finally, he said, still stroking his beard, “And me? Don’t I have anything to do with this? Can’t I help in some way?”

To everyone’s surprise, Sir Ookpik declaimed, crisply, in a tone as sharply clear as a block of iced seawater. “You, Santa, will show us your maps. Of the vagaries of the winds, of the best places in which to drop seeds, whether in forests, cities, or open ocean. You, after flying over the world for so many centuries, know the earth better than anyone.”

Ookpik’s words surprised Santa. He’d never thought of himself as being so knowledgeable about the earth. But he supposed he was.

He suddenly objected, “But won’t the children be disappointed? No toys? Especially no electronic ones?”

Spearmint shook her head. “Once they see they can drink from rivers and talk to animals, trees, and winds—because these seeds will also remove all the divisions between living beings, which humans create—they won’t go back to the way things were either. A little boy will be able to ride a lion! The birds are also offering to teach the children to fly. Whales are offering to teach children the depths of the oceans.”

Suncloud spoke, a little primly, “The children will be drunk on the beauty of the earth. And we’re hoping the adults will learn from them.”

Santa thought some more, and finally conceded.

“All right Suncloud. Spearmint. Let’s try this. We have nothing, absolutely nothing—to lose.”

He added, “Mrs. Claus has always said I need a rest anyway. So let’s proceed. To the map room.”

**

“Remember,” Santa declared, holding a pointer in his hand, “The winds are our friends. Even if they seem wild, ferocious, and unexpected, they blow with all their strength to make sure we are never stuck in one place or, come to think of it, in one way of thinking.”

Santa was pointing to a beautiful sculpture of intricately entwined icicles. The branches of the icicles separated into three parts: 1. The routes of the winds, 2. The routes of the rivers, seas, and other hidden waterways, and 3. The shapes of countries, cities, and hidden villages here-and-there.

Suncloud had directed the construction of this weather-chart based on deep Elven lore of the chimerical dance of the earth’s climate, ocean, and continents. (Honey couldn’t help but add glitter to the icicles so the whole sculpture simply sparkled like an Arctic treasure chest).

Santa had to give this lesson outside so the narwhal and his coldwater friends could keenly listen to his advice from the waters of the ocean. Flocks of dazzling birds had arrived as well to hear Santa’s teachings.

After Santa finished speaking, Mr. Fluff the puffin declared, robustly, “We are ready Santa! I, of course, speak only for my avian friends. But we are ready. I hope all the sea-creatures are as well.”

In response, a blue whale surfaced briefly, spouted a high, tall, sparkling tower of water, and sank back into the ocean.

Signora Alessandra announced, dramatically, “Yes. All sea-animals are ready as well.”

Santa turned to Suncloud and Spearmint. Suncloud’s face was stern—he was masking an eruption of nervous hope—while Spearmint was bubbling with excitement.

“We just know this will work!” chimed Spearmint, looking up at the radiant orange sun above. “It will work. Humans will continue what we will set in motion!”

“After all, it is our earth too,” added Suncloud. “And you know, our food supplies—the berries, nuts, and fruits that grow only in Arctic ice—which, thankfully, humans don’t know about—will diminish as the Arctic ice recedes. If they haven’t started diminishing already. So this is a…win-win for all of us! Humans, animals, elves, trees,”—he looked down at a miniature spruce tree, and stroked its fresh cold deep-green fibers, “and the earth itself!”

Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, and Do the 2^nd burst into song. And suddenly, a strikingly vibrant rainbow illuminated the whole sheet of ice upon which they stood.

Santa, despite his deep knowledge of human nature, couldn’t help but feel hopeful.

He suddenly had a thought. “How will we know how humans will react to what we’re doing for them?”

Suncloud spoke up briskly. “No worries. Many birds are offering to fly back and forth to let us know what happens. The whales as well. And we do all share one computer—we have wi-fi from Canada and Russia here.”

Santa smiled. Technology! He recalled the days when passenger pigeons were the only way of transporting messages around the world…

“We are a modern bunch aren’t we?” he laughed, heartily, in a booming eruption of joy which the elves hadn’t heard in a long time. “Ho, ho ho!” he laughed. “Ho, ho, ho!” The birds joined in, cooing, trilling, caroling.

“If humans only knew what we have planned for them,” he said, his eyes luminous with hope, “If humans only knew.”

“It’s good they don’t,” responded Suncloud, “They’d be disappointed. I mean, they’d just want presents. They have no idea what they’re in for.”

Spearmint nodded, hopping about excitedly in her green fur-lined boots. “I can’t wait Santa,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “I can’t wait for Christmas Eve!”

“Me either,” said Santa, “me either.”

“Good luck to all of you!” his voice boomed, echoing over the Arctic wilderness here, the Arctic emptiness there. “Good luck!”

Wings fluttered. Sea-creatures surfaced and sank. Even the clouds swayed in unison with each other, in a waltz of sheer water vapor.

The whole world—the oceans, ice, trees, birds, land, and especially the wind—trembled, quivered, indeed danced, in excitement.

Here was hope for peace at last.

**

The first news reports of their endeavor reached the North Pole, of course, over the internet.

Suncloud yelped. “It’s happening! It’s happening! The world is starting to take notice of what we’re doing. But they don’t know it’s us, of course.”

He turned to Santa, who was sitting comfortably in his purple chair, sipping a cider of apples, wintermelt, (a cream made from ice water when it just melted from a glacier), and nutmeg. All the elves had gathered in the Christmas Office on Christmas Eve to find out how their grand idea was going to turn out.

Spearmint ran to Suncloud, barely able to speak in her excitement. She nearly spilled her mug of wintermelt and ice wine on Honey, but Honey slipped away in time. “What’s happening?” she cried, “What’s happening?”

Suncloud stared at the elves’ one computer screen as he struggled to get words out. “The birds! The birds! They’re doing a marvelous job. Here. Let me read from the Wall Street Journal.” He cleared his throat and began. “Strange, indeed marvelous sights of birds have been spotted around the world. In Cairo, Rio de Janeiro, Mumbai, Sydney, Toronto. The avian creatures are not simply migrating; they are dancing in intricate patterns. Species of all kinds, from starlings to godwits to majestic eagles have been dancing to tunes only they seem to hear, spreading glittering substances upon the ground from their beaks. Scientists are baffled; ornithology experts have never seen such bird behavior and can offer no valid explanation.”

Spearmint squealed in excitement. “This is just the first report. The seeds now have to take effect. Let’s see what happens next.”

She’d barely finished her sentence when Suncloud read from an AP report out of Rio de Janeiro. “A Christmas miracle has occurred. Scientists have no other explanation. What are we talking about? Why, simple. Regrowth in the Amazon. Not simply bushes are growing, not simply saplings, but entire trees, fruit trees, nut trees, pines. A patch of land that was deforested yesterday is now covered with foliage. How has this happened? No explanation. It is a Christmas miracle. Pilgrims are already making their way to the majestic forest which has appeared from nothing.”

Santa smiled. “Well. Look at that. No one seems to be talking about Santa Claus and the lack of presents in the world.”

Suncloud nodded, and gasped. “Listen! From The Sydney Morning Herald. “Australian scientists, like scientists around the world are befuddled by strange happenings upon the earth. Researchers in Sydney are remarking upon fabulous results from ocean experiments. Plastic is disappearing from the ocean. At a rate far faster than which it has polluted the ocean. Marine biologists are marveling at the disappearance of straws in the bodies of birds, fish, and turtles, which they had just reported upon yesterday. And, to their tremendous wonder, the Great Barrier Reef is showing signs of regrowth.”

Spearmint started swaying. “I think I’m going to faint,” she said. “Things are happening far faster than I imagined. I never thought news reports would come in on…Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day as it almost is now.”

Do and Re got her a chair. She sat down, and accepted some homemade cider from Mrs. Claus.

Suncloud spoke again. “Listen! The Jerusalem Post. ‘While scientists are reporting upon baffling bird behavior in the world, military police are reporting upon a phenomenon as startling: Christian, Jews, and Muslims—not to mention all those of other faiths here—are out talking with one another, eating and drinking with one another. Laughing with one another. Everyone is going to everyone else’s sacred churches, temples, or mosques. When military police saw this, they experienced a phenomenon they’d never before experienced: the heaviness of their weapons. One police officer named Avi, declared, “I don’t know how to explain this. I’ve carried this gun for years. I don’t even think about it. And suddenly, today, it feels unbearably heavy. Or my body feels incredibly light. But I can’t carry it. I refuse to carry it.” Other military police are also putting down their guns, and as they put it, ‘longing to float’. Is this a Christmas miracle?”

Suncloud sat back against his chair. He shook his head. “I can’t believe it,” he said, “It’s all working. It’s really working.”

Santa added, “And not one mention of me or my sleigh or requests for presents. No North American radar tracking me. That is a Christmas miracle.”

As soon as Santa finished the word ‘miracle’, a cuckoo clock rang out. Twelve times. (Except it wasn’t a cuckoo bird who chirped but an arctic tern.)

“Well, my elves,” Santa said, raising his spiced cider in a toast, “Merry Christmas! Well Done!”

“Merry Christmas!” cried the elves, raising their mugs and tumblers in a grand toast.

After drinking a sip—just a sip—of cider, Suncloud said, “I’ll volunteer to come to stay in the Christmas Office for the next week and read out news reports. Whoever wants to drop in to hear them can. I’ve told the birds to fly here as well with their messages. No one has to stay here all week with me. It’s Christmas. Everyone should be having fun, playing the Elfin games, dancing to the Elfin swing.” He nodded his head in earnest.

No elf said a word.

Until Spearmint spoke, giggling, “Suncloud you are too much. How can we not be here to witness the magic happening all over the earth every day? We’ll come by every day.”

“I will too,” said Santa. “I miss flying my sleigh around the world. I can’t just sit and watch the snow. I want to bear witness to the miracles also.”

Suncloud didn’t smile, but his face glowed, albeit a little shyly.

His father would be so proud of him.

Santa sang loudly, “Merry Christmas to you all! Merry Christmas to the whole world! Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas!”

**

And so, seven days passed as if in a dream. Every news report was more miraculous than the next.

“LL-isten,” stammered Suncloud, in his haste at reading the tenth news report of the morning after Christmas. “From The New York Times: In the United States, prisons are opening their doors. Both prisoners and guards are walking outside in a calm unimaginable a mere week ago. They are shaking hands with each other, hugging their own families who are coming to meet them, families of other prisoners, hugging even victims and families of victims. Joe Schnieder, the 62-year old warden at Leavenworth, Kansas, simply stated, “I’m at a loss for words. I’m feeling a literal ocean of forgiveness here. Victims forgiving prisoners. Prisoners forgiving themselves, wanting to dedicate their life to victims but victims don’t want that. They just want to forgive, forget, and to erase all evil and memory of evil in the world.”

“The violet seeds!” exclaimed Re, clapping her hands in delight.

“There’s more!” Suncloud continued, “In another utterly unexpected occurrence, piles of guns are forming outside of prisons, outside of police stations; people are turning in all their weapons. John Miles, 56, an accountant living just outside of Dallas, said, shaking his head, “I can’t explain it. The gun is too heavy. I carried it last week. But it almost breaks my hands carrying it now. I got scared at first—am I sick? But I can carry logs to the fireplace. I just can’t carry guns. They weigh me down. It’s the darndest thing—I feel like floating. Have you ever heard such a thing?” Mr. Miles, of course, echoes what Avi the Israeli military policeman in Jerusalem said the day before yesterday. Which begs the question, What is happening upon the earth?”

He looked at the next news report and laughed. “The National Enquirer: “The Aliens are on Their Way. What else can explain this sudden mass spread of peace? They are on their way to subjugate humankind.” He sighed. “We can bring peace but not get rid of stupidity.”

Suddenly, Signora Alessandra pecked at the window of the Christmas office. Spearmint ran to the door.

The majestic bird flew into the room, shaking snow of her feathers. “Woo. Just flew in from Svalbard. That was just my stopping-place. I left from the Ukraine.”

“What’s going on Signora Alessandra?” asked Spearmint, jumping up and down in excitement.

The great bird nodded. “I know you are curious. Well, members of my fellow avian brethren pecked on the windows of children’s bedrooms. Some children were terrified. But many opened windows and followed us outside. We’re teaching them to fly. They can’t fly as high as we can, of course, because they’re still human, poor things, but they’re leaving the ground.”

She shook her feathers some more, causing a great pool of ice, snow and water on the floor. No elf mopped it up; they would play in it after the gyrfalcon stopped speaking.

Suncloud erupted in joy: “From Paris! Le Monde: Children around the world are appearing to fly. In Chennai, in Moscow, in Mexico City. Birds of many species are teaching them, without speaking. They show the children how to lift their hands in the most aerodynamic position possible for a human, and coax them to jump off the ground—although children need no coaxing to jump—and then the children hover in the air a few feet above the ground for several minutes. When they return they say it’s the best thing in the world they’ve ever experienced. Adults—many of whom already feel they are floating---are asking the children to teach them how to do it.”

Signora Alessandra was about to speak, when Suncloud interrupted her once more. “Wait! From the San Diego Union-Tribune: “Alex, 10, just rode a lion. The lion peacefully carried him around the San Diego zoo without incident. Alex said he knew the lion wouldn’t harm him; he just knew. This echoes news reports from Zimbabwe, South Africa, and Zambia, where children are riding lions without incident. It also references articles from India and China where children have apparently hopped upon tigers. And are laughing. Not just the children; the tigers. What is happening around the world?”

Spearmint jumped up and down. Although she had already lived several decades, she looked like a child.

“What greater miracle could there be?” she asked in delight, “then to have children take over the world?”

**

On the fifth day after Christmas, Suncloud read the most shocking news report of all.

“You won’t believe this,” he told the elves, as they and Santa gathered close by. “You won’t believe this.”

“What?” asked Santa and Spearmint together. “Tell us, please!”

Suncloud swallowed before speaking. “From The Guardian. Internet use has dropped dramatically around the world. Scientists are baffled. Professor Boris Crum of the London-based strategic think tank MindFind stated, “We think it’s because more children---and adults—are spending more time outside. They are not simply riding lions and tigers, and learning how to fly, but are listening to trees. Groups of people are going to a forest—or even just a park—and sitting underneath a tree, and listening. And since tree-growth has exploded over the earth in the last five days, crime in inner cities around the world has dropped. Luxurious oaks, apple-trees, even medium-sized redwoods, are growing in what used to be vacant lots, or near abandoned housing. People are sitting underneath trees, talking, laughing, even working. Internet use has dropped from multiple trillions of terabytes a day to a few million. It’s remarkable.”

“Wow!’ exclaimed Do, Re, and Mi, in unison.

“We never expected that,” added Fa and So.

For a good five minutes no elf or Christmas species of human spoke.

Then Santa said, gently, “So today is the seventh day since the birds and the whales scattered your magic seeds around the world. What happens tomorrow? New Year’s Day?”

No one said a word for a good five minutes more.

Finally Spearmint spoke. She looked at her fellow musical team-members, and sighed. Then she spoke, a little reluctantly. “Like we said, the effect will start to fade. No matter how much we tried, we couldn’t get the effect to last longer.” She added, in a braver tone, “But we have faith in humans. They’ll never let the world descend to the level it was before.”

Everyone in the room looked a little unsure.

So Spearmint said again, in a stronger voice, still minty-clear and clean, “Never.”

**

The next day, all the elves and Santa gathered in the Christmas Office.

Everyone was staring at Suncloud.

He hadn’t yet turned on his computer.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted, “I’m afraid to turn on the computer. I’m scared to see ….men picking up guns again. I’m scared to see hatred, violence, plastic in the oceans.”

Santa was about to speak, but let Spearmint speak instead.

“But if we’re not brave, and give into fear and just want to hide from the world, nothing can or will ever get better,” she said, in a voice crystal-clear. “We have to face the truth. And then make it better.”

Santa smiled. “I’m proud of you, Spearmint,” he said, “You too Suncloud. Silver Star would’ve been proud as well.” Suncloud’s cheeks glowed, briefly.

Santa turned to the gathered elves and exclaimed, “I’m proud of you as well, my melodic elves. You’ve all given your absolute best.”

Suncloud nodded, with a straight face. He was still a little nervous, but decided to be brave instead of scared.

He turned to his computer.

He switched it on.

Everyone waited around him breathless, in anticipation, fear, hope.

Suncloud didn’t say a word. He simply stared at the screen.

Finally Santa spoke, a little impatiently, “Well, Suncloud. What’s the news today? Tell us. We need to know the truth.”

Suncloud turned around. His eyes were glistening in tears.

Then, slowly, he smiled.