Is it snowing tonight - fairytale

Do you ever feel like the world has changed during the night? Everything looks exactly the same as it did yesterday. That yellow house you walk past, those old people laughing and enjoying coffee at the farmers market, those kids screaming of joy because it's finally almost winter. And yet something feels different. It feels like someone wants you to know that everything has changed. Who is that person and are they even a person?

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An author walked down the street with his pencil and a paper. He was always on the lookout for new stories. He lived in an old abandoned bookstore and barely had anything to eat but the fire within him kept him warm and safe. He used to sell people little segments of his stories but lately the cold and hunger had gotten into him and it felt more and more difficult to write. People didn't really buy stories anymore either. Everyone walked around with phones and computers as their entertainment. The light of the screen had made all adults forget the magic and all children worried that their parents wouldn't notice them. In other words there didn't seem to be room for fairytales even if the author knew that it was exactly what people needed. The author watched the kids run around and tried to dream himself back to his own childhood, a time when the only light people had was the light of a good fairytale. Suddenly something moved under his feet. The author was standing on ice, reflecting like a mirror, shining almost perfectly. And when he looked closley the ice was covered in tiny white footsteps, just like they were made from snow. The author started to follow the tiny footsteps wondering if those could lead him towards a story.

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When children sleep a little white being is working her magic. She dances around in circles creating piles of white snow for children to play in, she sits on a cloud and talks to it gently "please please please let it snow tomorrow morning so that the kids can build a snowman or a castle or anything they like!". For the dreamers she draws beautiful shapes with frost on the ground and roses on the windows for them to enjoy. She also covers every adults cars with snow so that they would spend more time with their children before going to work. For older people she tries to be as kind as possible, trying not to bother them too much. But by the morning light she has to go back, fly high into the sky because only there can she survive when the sun begins to shine.

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The little footsteps are melting and the author sees how the warmth of the sun is creating piles of water all over the ice. He rushes back to a pile of snow as fast as he can. He looks up towards the sky and cries "Oh dear sky, why did you do this to me, couldn't you lead me towards a story? I am nothing but a poor man, no food or drink do I have and my home is too cold to be in alone, can I get my medicine towards this loneliness, can I get my story? Oh how I long to write! Seing those swirls of pencil flow so beautifully on a paper almost makes all of my human needs go away for one moment! A how wonderful it is to see people glance at something else than a computer screen, they are in fact when I start to tell.. looking at their dreams". Behind the large pile of snow a little white being is listening. The author walks away but not until darkness falls will the being emerge. She fixes the ice as good as she can, she blows away snow from trees gives them her helping hand. She helps animals to build their wintery homes, she gives nature a chance to glow. But this night she has to fly, fly until she reaches a new place to hide.

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When the author wakes up in his old bookstore he can hear a gentle knock on his door. He opens his door and glances on the ground and there a clue can be found! He pics up a little sculpture of ice. It looks like a little girl with tiny wings made of frost, hair made of snow, a dress made of ice and slippers made of soft white clouds. He lifts her on his palms but she doesn't melt, he puts her on a table and starts to wait. Nothing happens. Another day goes by and another night is about to begin. The author sleeps with his notebook, hoping that the little girl would fly, perhaps he could write about it but then again that would be a lie.

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A large castle of snow stands in the middle of the city. It is carefully constructed with two large towers, round rose windows made of ice, a shiny door that looks like stardust and small white clouds all around it filled with more snow. Everyone is standing outside its doors. Adults have long ago forgotten their screens, old people are debating if someone is trying to attack their city and the kids are filled with happiness knocking on the castle door. Two women mumble to themselves; 'Sarah, who do you think could have made something like this, do you think we should call the police?' 'Why do something like that Alice? The kids are finally doing something else than bothering us adults as we work!'

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The author wakes up to screams and mumble outside his door. He rushes towards it in order to see what's going on. He barely opens his eyes when he opens his door. In front of him stands a woman who turns towards the rest of the crowd and screams with joy "Of course Larry you were right! It was our very own storyteller who built this castle, we should have known! Now sir would you be so kind to tell us how you built it? It must have taken you ages to designed it! I'm sure the kids would like to hear!"

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The author opens his eyes and nothing is there, he steps away from the door and glances at his house. It looks exactly the same as it did before and nobody is standing in front of it anymore. It must have been a dream he laughs but at least he found a story, no need to worry. The entire day he writes. Page after page after page. He falls asleep on top of his notebook but when he sleeps his notebook flies away. A little white being the one sitting on his table that he had forgot was taking his stories to the skies without saying any goodbyes. So when it snows and it doesn't feel the same you know who to blame. It's snowing fairytales and dreams your way.

Good night ❄🌬

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Comments

OanaMaria
OanaMaria,
Every snowflake a blowing kiss, every snowman a charming prince ! 😁
Well dear your blog post ended up to me my bed-time story tonight , and it is a charming fairytale.
Thank you for this!
nouw.com/oanamaria
curiositywanderlust
curiositywanderlust,
Aww how sweet ❄🥰 thank you so much!
nouw.com/curiositywanderlust