Mila’s Letter to Santa

“What would you like?” asks Mama.
Mila smiles and keeps drawing.
Papa already has the envelope ready.
“It’s a secret. Only for Santa!”

The envelope lies under the pillow.
“We’ll post it tomorrow,” says Mama.
“The postbox is so far from the North Pole.”
Mila can’t sleep.
Then something white sweeps past the window.

A huge owl lands on the postbox.
“Best bring the letter yourself.”
A wing comes down like a staircase.
Mila holds the envelope tight.
“I’m coming!”

Up the wing. Hold on tight!
One, two … and the feet dangle in the air.
Below, the postbox grows small.
There, the window of Mama and Papa!
Mila waves.

The roofs grow small.
The church tower falls behind.
Below, the river glitters.
Mila holds on tight to the red scarf.
“Still far?”
“A little higher,” says the owl.

Green lights dance above the clouds.
Mila reaches out a hand.
So close! And yet too far.
“Still far?”
“Nearly there,” says the owl.

Down, through the clouds.
Cold! The nose disappears into the scarf.
Mila feels for the letter.
Still there. Good.
And then, far below in the snow: a light.

A little house glows in the snow.
Santa pushes his glasses up.
“Post? Delivered in person? I’ve never had that!”
Mila holds out the letter.
“Only for you.”

“Come in, you’re freezing. The owl too.”
Boots off. Snow falls on the mat.
Hat on the hook, next to the red hat.
“Cocoa first, then post?”
“Post first!”

“You wish for … me?”
Santa laughs until his tummy wobbles.
“I wish you a rest,” says Mila.
Up go the slippers already.
The cocoa steams.
“Blow, blow. Then a sip.”

Back through the night.
Santa waves at the door, the picture in his hand.
The eyes of Mila grow heavy.
“I know the way,” says the owl. “Just sleep.”
The stars watch.

In the morning there is post at the window.
Mila shows the picture: two armchairs, two cups.
Mama is amazed. Papa turns a white feather.
“A place for you. A place for me.”