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"Whenever the snow falls on Christmas Eve, it's the footprints left by the Winter Spirit on their journeys."
In the quiet, focused attention of the children, only the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace could be heard.
Once upon a time——an eternally classic opening. A legend held the children's attention far more captivating than the clichéd gospels story in churches.
Milk foam floated on the surface of the sugary hot cocoa, secretly imprinting the white beard of the old man in red on everyone's faces. The sweet warmth filled the emptiness in everyone's stomachs, while simultaneously making the speaker's voice even more hoarse and deep.
That one who usually disliked excessive physical contact softened their aloofness under the influence of the festive atmosphere—he didn't mind being crowded.
"Only when the snow was heaviest and the temperature lowest could he descend the mountain without worrying about melting…enjoying the rare moments on the town street." The clinking of metal hooks each other filled the gaps left by the pauses in the old voice's words.
"He would hang sparkling icicles from the eaves of every house; mischievously blanket the earth in thick snow; secretly steal Mr. Snowman's warm clothes; and silently observe us through the windowpanes? Sometimes the windows creaked in the wind because he was so engrossed in watching that he accidentally bumped into them."
"Actually, that's just because, ouch!" A book hurled at him interrupted his impending remarks. The attacked youth rubbed his nose and picked up the book that had been thrown.
"Of course I know these stories are just to satisfy curiosity and lessen children's fear of the consequences of a blizzard, but understanding the true nature of these phenomena is the most effective way to resolve them once and for all."
"You really think……do I think the little guys need this kind of coaxing and comforting of children, Higgsbury?" The yarn, now picked up again, began to weave a new row, a bright red scarf spread beneath hands adorned with metal rings. "Who asked me to join in the festive atmosphere first? Humph, you're the one to tell the rest of the story. You were the one who interrupted this 'performance' first, so you're responsible for wrapping it up.
Hearing this, the young man reopened the book that had been thrown at him, took the ball of yarn from the kids, and sat down comfortably next to the old man.
"Mr. Wilson! So, the Winter Spirit usually can't come to town?" A child squeezed over from the sofa armrest, leaning on the other's shoulder and pointing to the illustrations in the book. "He must be very lonely, right? He usually stays up in the mountains……doesn't anyone keep him company?"
"Loneliness is harder to bear than frost," the girl who was be hug on his lap said calmly, picking up the conversation. "It makes your heart gradually stop beating, sinking into deathly silence."
"Yes, because the temperature up in the mountains is low enough that he won't melt, but other people can't stay in such a cold place for long." Looking down at the pages, Wilson softly explained the inherent logic of the story tale.
"So, if you see a pale blue human figure outside your window, breathe on the glass and draw a smiley face to greet him, okay? He'll be very happy to see that."
"The warmth of a gathering can ward off the cold, but too much warmth will melt the snow. So perhaps……just watching from afar, he'll be content."
==
"I can understand why those little ones love listening to stories. Is that what you all saying about me?" A hand rested on the fur around the neck of the narrator's thick coat; the legendary pale blue figure floated in the wind, swaying their legs.
"Stoves, hot cocoa, turkey feasts, and those old folks who exploit the reindeer to send gifts to so-called good children——your customs are fascinatingly novel, and I can vaguely guess the origins of some… But festivals are not a reason for you to recklessly cut down trees, hunt, and plunder resources."
"Not everyone is so reckless, and these stories also instill in children a sense of awe for nature." The older climber packed his bags, put on his goggles, and prepared for the biting wind.
"Is it almost time, Winter Spirit. Aren't you going down the mountain to 'play' this year?"
"Will you come with me? You've told me so many things; I can't wait to see them with my own eyes!" Driven by anticipation, he floated higher. His shawl swayed, and he lean on the other's head, humming the tune of the Ode to Joy.
"I wonder what the Christmas tree will look like this year?"
"Of course, my most special friend. After spending so much time with you……it's time for the old man to go back hometown and visit." Making sure the traces of their recent stay were cleaned up, the explorer lingering on the snow-capped mountain picked up their ice picks and began to survey and estimate a suitable descent route.
"Isn't it the same every year? Church children knock on doors singing carols; young couples go on dates in the street wearing the same scarf; children fight over chicken wings at family dinners…it's always the same."
"It's different." Following the other's footsteps, the snow elf explained earnestly, "The houses with red roofs waft the delicious aroma of soup; the biggest villa echoes with loud singing coming out; the Christmas tree outside the library is adorned with greeting cards from the town school's students; the Carter's house on the corner is always decorated with flowers…didn't you also say that a circus came to town this year?"
"Shall we go to see them? I've never seen the elephant as you described, that an animal with ears bigger than its face!"
Whenever the snow falls on Christmas Eve, it's the footprints left by the Winter Spirit on their journeys.