Christmas Morning Santa

Christmas Morning Santa Christmas morning; and I, by chance to see, near a mistletoe leaf that had fallen from a tree, Santa, stuck knee-deep in the snow with a puzzled look on his face and drawers opened that revealed a hare, who, too, looked confused, and time pieces melting away from the heat. “Santa,” I cried, “What are you doing here?” For I could only assume, Santa fell out of his sleigh, and the reindeer headed for the North Pole, alone, after a long, arduous night of delivering presents. He just stared at me while the sun cast our shadows, and I hoped the reindeer would soon reappear to take Santa home to get ready for next year. ***