Hello, I’m Joyce, and I’m thrilled to welcome you into my story! I believe something in my scene drew you here, and that’s what led you to my page. How lovely you are! I’m sure you’re curious to hear the story behind this scene. I can’t wait to share my dream with you and bring you into the magical Christmas atmosphere everyone eagerly awaits.
In 1920, in Indiana, just days before Christmas, I was so eager to meet Santa Claus that I couldn’t sleep for four nights. Then, one night, my mom noticed me crying. So, she came into my room and began telling me a beautiful Christmas story about Santa. As I listened with excitement, I eventually drifted into a deep sleep, where my mom’s story became my dream, vivid and real. Read more
I wished I’d never wake up from that dream. When I did, though, I felt happy and couldn’t wait to tell my brothers, Liam, Marc, Frank, and my sister, Christine. I called them over, and we sat together while I told them about my dream.
On that sunny Sunday afternoon at 2 pm, our village buzzed with excitement, eagerly awaiting Santa’s arrival. A wintery scene decorated the square: garlands of lights twinkling overhead, while wreaths and holly adorned every doorway. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and freshly baked gingerbread filled the air. Suddenly, laughter and cheers erupted as Santa appeared, stepping onto the snowy village path with a presence that warmed even the chilliest afternoon.
Santa was magnificent, his beard cascaded down his chest like a waterfall of snow, glinting in the sunlight. His face, glowing with joy, was framed by a cranberry-red coat so vibrant it stood out against the frosty backdrop. Over his shoulder hung a jute bag overflowing with gifts, each handmade with such care and charm that the sight left the children wide-eyed in wonder. We gathered in awe, gazing at the treasures within.
Then, As Santa scanned the crowd, his eyes twinkling, he caught my gaze and strolled over with a warm smile. “What’s your name, my dear?” he asked, his voice deep and kind.
“Joyce,” I replied, feeling my cheeks blush with excitement.
“What a beautiful name, Joyce,” he said, his tone sincere and gentle. “And tell me, do you like the long beard of Santa Claus?” He gestured to his snowy beard, which looked softer and more magical than I’d ever imagined.
“Of course!” I exclaimed, grinning. His next words made my heart skip.
“Would you like to slide on it?” he asked, his voice full of the magic of Christmas.
“Wow, Santa, that’s magical!” I couldn’t believe it. So, all the kids and I shouted, accepting Santa’s offer.
Santa chuckled, then spread his hand beneath his beard, creating a smooth, snowy path. He patted it, inviting me to climb on. I called to my brothers and sister, “Liam, Marc, Frank, Christine, come on play!” Their eyes lit up as they joined, and soon we were gliding down Santa’s beard, feeling the softness under us and laughing with delight. Other kids joined in, and soon the air was filled with joyous laughter and snowballs as we playfully tossed them at one another. Santa watched with a hearty chuckle, his own laugh booming like jingle bells.
Then, his voice called out over the fun, “Hey, kids! Aren’t you tired of sliding? Don’t you want your special gifts?”
“Yes, we do!” we shouted in unison, scrambling up with bright eyes and pink cheeks. Each of us received a beautiful handmade gift, crafted uniquely for every child, along with candies wrapped in shimmering paper. When I bit into mine, the taste was unlike anything I’d ever known, like the essence of Christmas itself, sweet, rich, and magical, a flavor that felt as if it came straight from paradise. Even now, I can still taste that unforgettable sweetness that only Santa’s Christmas could bring.
“Wow, Joyce, that dream sounds incredible!” my brothers exclaimed, their eyes lighting up with excitement. “We can’t wait for Santa to arrive!” They thanked me eagerly for sharing, and as we kept talking, our mother listened from the kitchen, a warm smile spreading across her face.
