Call this what you will; almost four months too late, little less than eight months too early. But I don't care. I was hit with an inspiration for a story and I went with it and am just too excited about this one shot to wait until December for a day that only comes once a year. So there you have it, now please enjoy!

A White Christmas

It was a week away from Christmas that school was dismissed for the holidays. Little Elsa, who was no more than seven, stood on the gravel road all bundled up in a thick coat and a wolley scarf wound around her neck that didn't even match the hat pulled over her ears. Though the weather didn't quite require such attire, her mother insisted on keeping warm.

The air was crisp but not yet sharp. The ground was hard but not quite solid. The clouds were grey but not yet emptying of the snowflakes that filled the sky. And perhaps they never would. After all, Elsa had never witnessed the fall of snow for as long as she could remember. For it never snowed where she lived. But never was such a long time. And something was coming her way. She just didn't know it yet.

Her mother reached over to unlock the door when she pulled up to the curb in the minivan. And it was from afar that a certain spirit, though invisible to the naked eye, observed Elsa as she climbed into the backseat. What he was doing in a little town such as this where his element was nowhere to be found he did not know. But she caught his attention from the very beginning since arriving. She was one to watch, and he intended to do just that. I suppose, he found his reason to stay. And stay he did.

"Aunt Amelia, Uncle Marcus, and Rapunzel send their love." Her mother told her as she slid a postcard in between the driver's seat and the car door without taking her eyes off the road.

Elsa glanced down at the smiling faces of her mother's sister and her family. They were posed on the front stoop of their four hundred square foot house with their arms wrapped around one another, as if someone had positioned them like they would plastic dolls.

Her eyes remained focused on her cousin, who's golden hair cascaded down either shoulder and bright green eyes beamed at the camera lense. Elsa hadn't seen her since she was only a baby. She would tell you that she didn't even remember Rapunzel if she was being honest. But it was according to her parents that they were like sisters in infancy, and it was they who informed her that Rapunzel's hand was even the first that Elsa held. They were born only four days apart and one room away from each other. But Elsa wouldn't recognize her now if not for the cards they sent every holiday. They were practically strangers.

Her eyes were fixated on her relatives' faces, but not for long. For the snow sprinkled upon their front yard and roof of their house quickly stole her attention away. And she figured that pictures and postcards would be the closest she ever came to a proper winter. But how she yearned to watch the white powder descend from the sky and feel it melt between her fingers.

Every other child wanted the latest in toys or electronic gadgets or wads of money for Christmas. Every other child wanted to see every object on their wish list wrapped in the boxes and packages under the tree on Christmas morning. They wanted to see everything they wanted on their list crossed off by the end of the day that only came once a year. But all Elsa wished for was a white Christmas.

The week flew by. And it was a week filled with season's greetings, warm wishes, holiday baking, last minute letters to the North Pole, gifts from grandparents who lived too far away to remember, carollers carolling away on doorsteps, and evenings with hot cocoa spent by the hearth.

It also would have been a week of decorating had they not already done so. But Elsa had to make sure that their house was the first festooned with lights and inflatable snowmen in the neighborhood. And it was just before dinner every night that Elsa's father took her outside by the hand to plug in the lights. And it was watching the house light up aglow of ember that became her favorite time of day. The string of tiny little lightbulbs was wide awake with the stars, and she wondered why more people weren't awake at night.

The world rebuilt itself anew at night. It molded into a different place, and it was a place she wanted to visit often. But it was also lonely in a way, and someone out there understood that as much, (if not more than), as Elsa did. He was just a footstep behind her, right where she couldn't see him.

It was just on the very eve of Christmas that Elsa lay sprawled on the sofa with her silvery-blond locks in a fan around her head. She held a candy cane she plucked from their tree and twirled it with an anxious twitch between her fingers. She'd been waiting all year for this day. Tomorrow could not come any sooner.

Elsa hung the candy cane back on its branch and peered over the side of the couch where Anna was engrossed in a few more last minute requests to Santa Claus. Her script was still crooked and wobbly around the edges, (she was only four after all), but her spelling was quite impressive for her age. People tended a little too often to underestimate the young and their capabilities.

"Oh, what's the use?" She pouted with a protruding lower lip. "Santa will never get this in time."

Elsa slid off the couch onto the floor and pulled her sister into her shoulder.

"Of course he will Anna. As long as you believe in him, he'll grant your wish. It may not be this year or next, but he will always remember it and it will happen."

Their father, who stood in the door frame of the kitchen and had been listening in, kneeled beside them.

"You will do well to listen to your sister Anna. She is quite right. But let us see if we can lessen Old St. Nick's work shall we?"

He took her scrap of letter and neatly folded it into a perfect paper plane. He then took them both by each hand and led them through the door and out onto the front stoop, whereupon he launched the plane into the air. And the three of them stood, eyes shining, as they watched the letter sail into the darkness until the evening grew so cold that they could see their breath, and quickly they scurried inside.

"It sure is nippy out there," Their father exclaimed as he rubbed the warmth back into his daughters' shoulders. "I hope Ole Jack Frost isn't up to another one of his nasty tricks."

"Who's Jack Frost?" Elsa asked, peering up at her father.

"Jack Frost is the spirit of winter who's responsibility it is to bring now only snow, but fun as well to the world." He replied, smoothing out her platinum tresses as a smile was exchanged between him and his wife.

He then sent them scuttling off to bed, in which their mother tucked them between the blankets and kissed them goodnight just before turning out the light when she thought they were fast asleep. But they weren't. At least not Elsa. She lay awake long after the light was turned out. Long after she thought she heard the floorboards creaking underneath St. Nicholas. Her mind was wide awake with the thought of Jack Frost, and refused to drift away. And she knew as she lowered herself off her bed that there was no chance of her falling alseep tonight. At least not anytime soon.

Moonlight poured in through the window, casting her shadow upon the floor when Elsa gazed up at the dark sky in which the stars were scarce tonight but twinkled brightly where they could be spotted. She closed her eyes, scrunched her nose once, twice, three times, and even tapped her toes as she made a silent wish to Jack Frost to wake up to a white Christmas waiting just outside her window in the morning.

And he, Jack heard this wish. For he was perched on the outside of the sill when she made it. It was the moment she fell asleep late into the early morning that he granted her wish and bestowed a blanket of glistening white powder upon their lush front lawn just for her. And when she and her family awoke on Christmas morning with sleep still heavy in their eyelids, they could never be more surprised nor bewildered at the sight that awaited them for sore eyes just outside their door.

Elsa didn't dash down the steps and barrel into the snow like she always envisioned she would. She, instead, stood with her bare toes just over the edge of the steps, soaking in the image through her blue eyes. She wanted to remember this. She wanted to remember what snow looked like out of a postcard with not a print of a foot to dent the surface. She wanted to remember what the snowflakes felt like when they melted between her fingers. But she would always remember what was said that morning.

"Looks like Santa's been busy on your account Elsa." Her mother said just under her breath.

"No. This isn't his doing," She eyed the roof of the minivan, which was parked in the driveway and where Jack Frost himself sat. And Elsa realized that she wasn't just noticing him now. She'd known for awhile, in fact, that he'd always been there hovering just over her shoulder. That she'd always believed in him. He had just been hiding all too well. "It's the craftsmanship of Jack Frost."

If you like this than check out my other Jelsa stories: A Winter's Promise, A Winter's Spell, Unveiled, Winter's Kiss.

Reviews make me smile:) It's also my first modern Jelsa story so I hope I did okay.

-birdywings