One Final Gift

On the last day of a year-less November a bearded man sits on the edge of the grave he had just dug. His red pants and boots were covered in dirt. The red in his cheeks and lips matched the red of his pants and coat. The beard which danced upon his face matched the white cuffs of his suit. Tears ran from his eyes only to hide in his beard as he read and reread the letter he received last year from Mr. Spelling.

Years before He had watched from a distance as Mr. Spelling moved out of the city after the loss of his home and family to fire. There was no Christmas tree in Mr. Spelling new home on any Christmas Eve to place gifts under, so he made a tree the gift. Mr. Spelling would wake each Christmas morn delighted to see a Christmas tree left in his small farmhouse.

This continued for many years. Until he received the letter which he clutches in his cold dirty hands.

"Dear Santa,

I would enlist your aid one last year if it pleases you. I am not well and will not be live til the coming Christmas. I have so loved the trees you gifted me each Christmas. This year though,I need you to deliver me to the Pine at the end of my field. I wish to be buried there by the only person whom I still love and whom still loves me.

Sincerely with love and thanks,

John Spelling"

He filled in the grave brushed the soil from his suit and boots. With a wink and a faint smile lit the lights on the Pine then mounted his sleigh. Delivering this final gift, cheer returned to his face.

"Merry Christmas John. Wherever you are."