𝔸 𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕒

ᙃᥱᥲɾ ᔑᥲᥒtᥲ.

Ꙇ ᥴᥲᥒ't ɾᥱຕᥱຕᑲᥱɾ tᖾᥱ Ꙇᥲ⳽t tɩຕᥱ Ꙇ ωɾotᥱ to ყoᥙ, ຕᥲყᑲᥱ ƒoᥙɾ ᑯᥱᥴᥲᑯᥱ⳽ ᥲɠo, ωᖾᥱᥒ Ꙇ ωᥲ⳽ ᥲ ƙɩᑯ ɾᥙᥒᥒɩᥒɠ ᥲɾoᥙᥒᑯ tᖾᥱ ᖾoᥙ⳽ᥱ, ωᖾᥱᥒ tᥱᥴᖾᥒoꙆoɠყ ᖾᥲᑯᥒ't ɩᥒʋᥲᑯᥱᑯ oᥙɾ ᖾoຕᥱ⳽… ᙎᖾᥱᥒ Ꙇ ⳽tɩꙆꙆ ᖾᥲᑯ ƒᥲɩtᖾ...

Ʈoᑯᥲყ, Ꙇ ᥲຕ ωɾɩtɩᥒɠ to tᥱꙆꙆ ყoᥙ tᖾᥲt ᥴᖾɩꙆᑯɾᥱᥒ toᑯᥲყ Ꙇo⳽ᥱ tᖾᥱɩɾ ɩᥒᥒoᥴᥱᥒᥴᥱ ƒᥲ⳽tᥱɾ. Ʈᖾᥱყ ⳽toρ ᑲᥱꙆɩᥱʋɩᥒɠ ɩᥒ tᖾᥱ ຕᥲɠɩᥴ oƒ ᙅᖾɾɩ⳽tຕᥲ⳽ ᥲt ᥲᥒ ᥱᥲɾꙆყ ᥲɠᥱ. ƮᥱꙆᥱʋɩ⳽ɩoᥒ, ᥴoຕρᥙtᥱɾ⳽, ⳽ຕᥲɾtρᖾoᥒᥱ⳽, ᥲᥒᑯ tᖾᥱ ᥙ⳽ᥱ oƒ tᖾᥱ ɩᥒtᥱɾᥒᥱt, toᑯᥲყ, tᥱᥴᖾᥒoꙆoɠყ ᖾყρᥒotɩ⳽ᥱ⳽ tᖾᥱຕ, ᥱᥒʋᥱꙆoρ⳽ tᖾᥱຕ. Ʈᖾᥲt'⳽ ωᖾყ tᖾᥱყ ᑯoᥒ't ᑲᥱꙆɩᥱʋᥱ ɩᥒ ƒᥲɩɾყ tᥲꙆᥱ⳽ oɾ tᖾᥱ tootᖾ ƒᥲɩɾყ. ᖴoɾ tᖾᥱຕ, tɩຕᥱ ρᥲ⳽⳽ᥱ⳽ ʋᥱɾყ ϙᥙɩᥴƙꙆყ.

Ꙇ ωᥲᥒt to ɩᥒʋɩtᥱ ყoᥙ to ຕყ ᖾᥙຕᑲꙆᥱ ᖾoຕᥱ, Ꙇ ωoᥙꙆᑯ Ꙇɩƙᥱ to ⳽ᖾᥲɾᥱ tᖾo⳽ᥱ ຕᥲɠɩᥴᥲꙆ ຕoຕᥱᥒt⳽ tᖾᥲt ƒᥲᑯᥱ ᥲωᥲყ. Ꙇ ωᥲᥒt ຕყ ⳽ᥱʋᥱᥒ-ყᥱᥲɾ-oꙆᑯ ⳽oᥒ to ᑲᥱꙆɩᥱʋᥱ ɩᥒ ყoᥙ ᥲɠᥲɩᥒ, ᖾɩ⳽ ꙆɩʋᥱꙆყ ᥱყᥱ⳽ Ꙇɩɠᖾt ᥙρ ωɩtᖾ ᥱຕotɩoᥒ ωᖾᥱᥒ ᖾᥱ ⳽ᥱᥱ⳽ ყoᥙ ᥲt ᖾoຕᥱ.

Ʈᖾᥲᥒƙ ყoᥙ ƒoɾ ωᖾᥲtᥱʋᥱɾ ყoᥙ ᥴᥲᥒ ᑯo. ᙎᖾo ຕɩ⳽⳽ᥱ⳽ ყoᥙ ᥲꙆωᥲყ⳽ ωɩtᖾ Ꙇoʋᥱ…

Having finished the letter, John puts it in an envelope addressed to Father Christmas. At that moment, the boy enters, who was playing with other children in a Cyber. Mary, Tristan's mother, orders him to take a bath because dinner will be served in half an hour. At that moment, a soft, warm breeze comes in through the window, the envelope with its contents disappears mysteriously, nobody notices it…

It was the twenty-first of December, the time of the arrival of the Spirit of Christmas. The cold was beginning to set in and snow was expected on Christmas Eve.

Meanwhile, the envelope was flying through the skies as if it were a comet and arrived in the hands of its addressee. Surprised by the letter that came through the chimney directly into his hands, old Santa carefully removed the seal and read very attentively. As he read, he remembered exactly when he had received John's last letter, the boy was then ten years old and a fervent believer.

Three days later, and after he had spread all the presents around the world, making happy the children who still believed in him. He left his sleigh on the roof of John's house, who had given up hope… It was about one o'clock when he heard a knock at the door. John, who was watching a Christmas film, looks out and sees a man with a long white beard, elderly and dressed in that suit that left no room for doubt. Immediately, he opens the door and with a brotherly embrace, he ushers Santa into his house.

Mary, who was sleeping next to Tristan, is startled by the noise and goes to the living room. Surprised, she reproaches John for not telling her that Santa was coming and that she was not dressed for the occasion. But the joy of the welcome visit lit up the whole house.

Mary went to the bedroom to wake up the child… —What's wrong mom, there's someone very special who wants to see you. — The child rolls over… A Ho, Ho, Ho, Ho; Santa enters the room, the room fills with magical colours. Golden breezes sweep over the child and touch his face. As the child opens his eyes, he is astonished at what is happening in his room, and he rejoins…

Ho, Ho, Ho… — don't you know who I am? The boy, still in doubt, looks at John, – Daddy? My love, it's Santa who came to visit us. — But at school everyone says that Santa doesn't exist, that it's mummy and daddy who put the presents under the tree…

With affection, Santa comes and sits down next to Tristan and says: — Dear Tristan, it's true, it's your parents who put the presents under the tree. The fathers all over the world are my personal helpers, without them, it would be impossible for me to bring a present to every child on earth. At that moment, Santa takes a wrapped present out of his sack and hands it to the child with the following words: — Do you remember the letter you wrote to me at school as an activity? A twinkle, a gleam in Tristan's eyes, as he hurriedly opened the present and just what he wanted to receive, he threw himself into Santa's arms and gave the look of happiness that his father John wanted to see.

Everyone in the living room, sitting around the tree. Tristan listening to the stories of Santa's world travels. Three chimes of the living room clock, announcing the departure of Santa, who, on his way to the door, puts his hands to his head, – How could I forget, he takes a bag of Ethiopian coffee out of his bag. — When I passed by Yirgacheffe, I thought of you, John… This is my present.

Thank you for reading my participation and leaving your comment, which I will be happy to answer.

Thanks to the #CinnamonCupCoffee community «@hive-152524» for these wonderful opportunities to participate in activities where coffee is king.