Believe: The Girl

The cold wind whips on my face,

As I peek out the back window of the train,

Into the depths of a never-ending winter.

I smell the icy air and squint through the flurries,

As we grind furiously along the frozen tracks,

To a place we’ve never been before,

But heard so much about.

The vast expanse of the middle of nowhere is silent.

Threatening and scary,

As the trees stand tall and strong in the shadows.

But adventurous and inviting,

As the snow sparkles on the horizon.

Outside of the wind, set in motion

By our great moving vessel,

The snow brings a heavy stillness.

In the distance I hear wolves running through the mountains,

Where hooded figures rest over isolated campfires.

Though the icicles formed on the window

Are vibrating with the locomotive’s steaming fervor,

And though the wind runs icy fingers through my hair,

The spirited cold does not invade the warmth of my robe,

Or the orange glow of the trains cars,

Or the far-off tiny lights,

Of the North Pole –

A tiny, dutiful city,

Laid with wobbly bricks,

Hung with amber street lamps,

And smelling of peppermint, cookies, and pine.

A beacon of light in the distance.

The giddy wheels of the jet-black train

Roll along as fast as they can,

Past the glacial rocks,

And the cliffs of snow-laden trees,

As we rush on toward

Our storybook destination.

My journey feels sacred.

It is a wonderful secret.

I’ve been here before, haven’t I?

If it is magic, I know it.

If it is a dream, I’ve lived it.

If it is life, I’ve dreamt it.

If it is a story, I’ve believed it.

If it is an adventure, I’ve lead it.

In my heart is a wonderful familiarity,

As I stand in my slippers,

With a boy who needs a friend.

These are the best parts of Christmas.

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