>the world so high ] open

While dreams were marvelous fun to work with at any time of the year, the Christmas season was a special thing on its own.

He cradled the box in his hands a last time, watching the sand arrange itself into the shape of a ribbon atop the dreamed-up present; then, with a silent chuckle for slumbering stretch of street below, he tipped the entire stack of dreams at the side of his cloud over. Like golden birds they flew, boxes tumbling over images of elves, horses, and the occasional television character to enter the domains of the sleepy children, and like a bird himself the Sandman rested on his stomach at the edge of his cloud, chin propped up on his crossed arms as he watched his haze of dreams do its work.

He’d never tire of this, ever.