My dear friends, I am no longer a youth wide-eyed and letter writing. The magic has faded as I know the magician. No longer does Santa come to visit me at my house. No longer do I waited with baited breath, straining to hear the tale-tale sounds of Santa Claus visiting. No mysterious presents appear beneath my tree.
I have known the meanings of the symbols and trappings of the season since childhood. I learned the customs of several cultures. And I don't think the trappings, symbols or myths detract one bit from the purpose of the season. They add to it and give it flavor.
And knowing Santa as I do, I still wait for him. I feel the hope within my chest as Christmas approaches that this year he'll come again. This year the magic will return and I'll wake to the joys of Christmas morn as I once did in childhood.
You might say that this is but wishful thinking, or stupidity upon my part. It might be. I choose to think of it as hope in things greater, things unexplained, in possibilities and dreams. I choose to hope for the magic of innocence and the beauty therein.
And so I will keep waiting for Santa. One day, he will come again. I hope he will find me ready and waiting.
Merry Christmas.
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