by Donald Harry Roberts
The magic only happens when lads and lassies of all ages have settled their weary heads into deep feathery pillows and drift into dreamy slumber. But every now and then, someone with just the right amount of imagination (it could be you some Christmas eve) is chosen to join the great gathering of the Snowfolks, to dance and sing and play around that grand and beautiful Christmas tree that stands watch over the town and waits to greet that jolly fellow in red for us who are sleeping.
And it is such an event that even to the sleeping ears and dreaming minds of all can hear and imagine those players, round and tall, standing before the Christmas tree, now a stage for their performance, instruments in hand playing out those beloved tunes of Christmas, the carols we all know and love, a grand fanfare to beckon Santa and all his reindeer.
For a moment all wait in silence as the maestro approaches the podium, glinting in the lights of the Christmas tree. All around the audience stands the Snow Angels, a crowd of elves who have finished making gifts in Santa’s workshop and of course, the small herd of town deer.
Jack Frost climbs the steps and taps the music stand and all the Snowfolks turn their eyes on him anticipating the slightest twitch of his icicle wand.
Then suddenly the town is alive as the band strikes the first notes of ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town.’
And the deer and the snow angels and the elves all begin to dance up and down the street in whirls and twirls and slides and jumps, raising a cloud of silver snow glowing in the street lamps.
And far off, but not too far, the sound of sleigh bells in the gala of music and dance. Then, high in the sky shines a tiny red light and a great voice booms, “Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas One and All.”