Post-Yuletide Cheer

 The air was harsh, cold, and wet. Not the crisp cold of autumn that whispers scents of cider and possibilities. Not the pre-spring sop whose bearability lies in it's proximity to warmer days ahead. No, this was the kind of cold and wet that crept into the bones and made itself at home, impossible to shake no matter how many cups of tea and fires one surrounded oneself with.

    The witch wasn't particularly pleased with the state of the weather. Or the state of the year. 

    It's all very well when Yuletide comes, all very well to know that the days are growing longer. But the truth is that it exists in the mind no more than as a mere technicality. An infinitesimal stretching of instants that mean little when chill and exhaustion run circles about an old woman.

    Which is all to say that it was the time of year when witches got depressed. And this witch in particular was suffering the ill effects of morose sorrow more than she had in most years.

    What a curious turn of events, then, when a tiny child appeared on her doorstep.

    Not a baby. That's not this story. (And thank God! Think of the weather...)

    Not an orphan. That story would take too long to explain.

    No, this was a walking, talking child that happened to be very small. Her tiny fist had knocked a surprisingly loud tattoo on the witch's cottage door. And when the witch opened the door, the tiny daughter's mother wasn't too far behind.

    'Post-yuletide sweet bread for you, Ms. Witch,' the girl said with a smile and a parcel extended.

    The witch knew better than to smile. It would not do for a witch to be jolly. Appearances mattered.

    She nodded gravely to the little girl, felt the warmth of the bread in her hand, and raised her chin gently toward the mother.

    They didn't discuss the strangeness of a gift given post-yuletide. They didn't express the welcome of such warmth in so dreary a time. They all simply went about their business.

    But the witch smiled the rest of the day. In her home. Where no one could see her.

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