The Unsleeping — A Christmas Tale
I called myself one of the unsleeping it sounded so much more dramatic than insomniac. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t fall asleep. If I didn’t try, it was even worse. Yet there were advantages to my unsleeping self and Christmas was almost upon us.
I sat at my window watching the barn owls flit across the moonlight meadow like nighttime phantoms. A clear sky and silver moon made for an idyllic winter scene; snow would have made it Christmas, but there was none.
I dragged my eye from the Christmas Eve skies to the meadow and back again just in case. He couldn’t avoid me forever. He wouldn’t, would he?
When the village church struck midnight, I became more attentive. I allowed the barn owls to go unobserved as I hunted out far larger prey.
Twice I thought I saw him, but it was just stray wafts of cloud. Three times I thought I heard him, but it was the sleeping snores of the parents to an unsleeping son. Time dragged on and still I waited.
When I awoke to a stiff neck and cold everything still propped against the window ledge, I turned with a crack to see a note sticking out of my Christmas stocking. It read:
Hope you enjoyed your sleep.
It was the best Christmas present I’d ever received.