For a moment, he dangled there, looking down at the icy driveway. His hat fell off, drifting lazily onto the windshield of the SUV.
Snow fell like powdered sugar over North Hollow, a village so small it could be missed by maps. On the tallest hill, framed by frosted pines, stood Santa’s workshop—its windows glowing honey-gold, its roof sagging slightly from years of kindly repairs. Inside, Santa Claus hummed to himself as he tightened the last bolt on a curious wooden toy: a mechanical fox with a brass tail that wagged when wound. santa claus in trouble mac full
Santa pulled himself up with a grunt, grabbed his sack, and shimmied down the roof toward the open garage. For a moment, he dangled there, looking down
“I cannot fix every sorrow,” Santa said, voice small. “But I can remind the world that someone remembers.” On the tallest hill, framed by frosted pines,