Christmas fantasy

Christmas times

I remember the last Christmas I used to believe in Santa Claus

Moments I thought forever gone

It used to be the most marvelous feast of the year

And when I went to sleep and woke up in the night to visit the bathroom

I’d be thrilled with excitement and anticipation, at the idea of the gifts I’d receive the next morning

And mainly at all the magic surrounding this holy day

I asked many questions about Santa Claus to my mother

And I liked to imagine him as a kind and wise old man

Who loved to make children happy with his gifts

And traveled relentlessly all the heavens visiting every house on his path

I wrote him letters, and I left carrots for the reindeers to thank them for their exertion

I also pictured tiny pixies who helped Santa know what would please children the most in every place

And in the morning, I opened avidly the gifts under the Christmas tree

And when I was done, I’d always find a trace of Santa Claus’ passage through the chimney

A forgotten tiny package I opened too, and of course, the carrots would be gone


At the time decorating the christmas tree was not a mechanical task or a chore

It was a moment of intense reverie

I awaited anxiously the moment my parents would buy the tree, I liked to go with them to the nursery

Then we’d set the colorful garlands of lights, and the hundred tiny decorations we had

Each of these decoration had a soul, was a small gate to the world of magic

I loved to observe them closely, and they carried me away to their world of dreams

Little personages and animals, mushrooms and red berries, small bells, colorful balls with various textures, lollipops and stars


I had forgotten all the part about decorating the Christmas tree

When my aunt had inadvertently let me know that Santa Claus was a myth

It had disappointed me so much it had destroyed the magic in this feast

This year, for the first time after almost two decades I retrieved little bits of this magic

Instead of buying a commercial Christmas tree, I thought of cutting a bough of a fir tree we had nursed in the garden to huge dimensions

It was raining, finally, and the scent of fir was intense all around

And we set it in the middle of the living room, fixed with stones

My mother brought the old decorations we used

And touching them reawakened memories and old feelings

I could see them with my child’s eyes again

And suddenly, it became a pleasure to hang them on the needles

For a moment it was the only thing I wanted to be doing



“Christmas times” is a drawing of my childhood