I love the snow. This morning, thick fat flakes fell from a slate gray sky, blanketing everything. The only bad thing is that it covers everything, from potholes to rocks to tree roots. I nearly fell on my face from slipping on something that had iced over underneath the snow.
My sense of the ridiculous is creeping up on me again, most likely due to end-of-the-term stress. I’m thinking of writing a letter to “Santa” and including a SASE (self-addressed stamped envelope) to see where the letter ends up and who replies, if anyone. I wonder if the same thing would work if I wrote a letter to the Easter Bunny.
Bonny’s belief in Santa brings a bit of magic. Okay, so I guess in this case, believing in Santa may make the life of a little girl with a lot of other problems somewhat better (emotionally, that is). But as I think back to the time when I was eight, I’m pretty sure I did not believe in Santa Claus. In fact, I’m not sure if I ever believed in Santa Claus. To me, Santa was like the characters in fairy tales–out of somebody’s imagination. Christmas had always held more of a religious significance for me because the first things I would think of would be stars, angels, a manger, and farm animals.