The Perfect Gift

The snow of change floats over me like a scrim of dressed white breeze. Dancing in the air, nuance in grace wrapping my soul in a tight embrace. Strolling and crunching on fresh snow powder upon an old shop of magick, its candles flicker.

I pin my nose onto the cold window in hopes to find the perfect gift bestow. Naught just of plain games nor of large monies but of a simple writing utensil, my son fancies. Stepping inside the myth, an old man bellows none other but the red suited, bearded fellow.

"A thousand miles and more, hast thou travelled searching a majestic wonder that thou wish acquire." "'Tis naught of magical pencil that thou require but of a wielder of artistic marvel that thou already acquired."

Author: Michael Soo Date: December 24th, 2007

(Image photographed a week ago at The Vault)