The Icicle

“My little girl, why are you crying?” Hands five times the size of her own wrapped themselves around her waist as she was hoisted onto huge shoulders. She wiped her eyes as she was carried into the warm cabin, away from the snow that blasted their home.

“I have a letter for Santa, but I can’t get down the mountain to take it to town. Not in this blizzard!”

“Well,” He huffed as he set her down. “There’s a way. I can’t throw that far, can you?” She shook her head.

“I could shoot it down there. I have a bow!”

“But daddy, you don’t have arrows.”

“We have icicles!” The girl stared.

He led her outside and there on the roof’s edge hung dozens of icicles. “Fetch one of your ribbons. A bright one.” She did just that and when she came back, her father had her letter rolled up and, with the ribbon, he tied it to an icicle. “The town is just below us. This won’t fly like a bird, but should make it to the middle of town.” He led her to the edge of their cliff overlooking the bright town. He raised his bow and drew back the icicle. Aiming high, he let go of the bow string and the icicle soared with the letter up and up until it arced and started its descent down into the middle of town where nobody stirred today, but people were sure to come out tomorrow and see the bright red ribbon dancing in the snow.

The next morning, the mail man was making his rounds when he spotted a letter hanging from a red ribbon in the tree in the center of town. He read the words “Dear Santa” and, smiling, put it in his bag.