.JPG)
FATHER CHRISTMAS
They often asked him for a story. But telling stories had never quite worked for him. No, he was a farmer: a tree farmer, to be exact. And farming, especially winter farming, was solitary work.
Although his chapped lips rarely moved in speech, warmth radiated from his deep brown eyes when he smiled, something he did freely and often. His face glowed with the light of youth, despite his having worked in evergreen fields through countless Indiana winters.
Although his chapped lips rarely moved in speech, warmth radiated from his deep brown eyes when he smiled, something he did freely and often. His face glowed with the light of youth, despite his having worked in evergreen fields through countless Indiana winters.
Years passed, quickly and slowly.
