The magic man surveyed the wares in front of him. The sheer volume of the amount of work he had already finished and had yet to accomplish was a testament to something… He wanted to believe it was a direct result of the general decency and goodness at the core of every mortal, but he knew it was more likely because of hormones and the ever expanding population. There were a lot more people out there than when he had started his yearly rides. The length of his second scroll, the one he didn’t like to acknowledge until he absolutely had to, spoke to the veracity of that assumption.
Rising from his ornately carved chair, his underlings called it The Throne but he always felt funny when he heard that, he strode forward with measured and deliberate steps to prepare for work. A man of his size had to be careful how they moved about on the ground. He was more suited to the air, where he could be as light as a feather and as fast as thought, without fear of knocking anything, or anyone, over.
It was nearly time. The last of the secret hopes and longed-for wishes piled to the top of their towering collections. Creaks and groans of motion echoed inside the cavernous hall as the items settled into place. The magic man lifted his arms to catch anything that should fall and was pleased when nothing did. A giant smile filled his round and jovial face, rosy red cheeks under starry-eyed pupils, and the familiar tingling of ancient sorcery crept from his heart to his fingertips.
Three words were all it took, so familiar, so powerful, and his true self would be unlocked and unleashed for another magical twenty-four hours. The room hushed in expectation and the underlings closest to him backed away. They were equally transfixed in awe of his legend as they were in awe of the power flowing from him.
It started as a rumbling laughter, low and deep within his stomach, and it rose in intensity and beauty. There was no greater magic left in the world. There was no greater love. And, by the time the three words to the spell rang clearly, the underlings wept with joy.
“Ho. Ho. Ho.”
The magic man disappeared along with all the necessities of his day-long night’s work and the underlings cheered and wished him safe travels. His continued existence and purpose meant there was still belief, and as long as there was belief that meant there was also hope. And, as long as there was hope, that meant there was also magic. And magic is love.
The magic man knows this truth, and he spends the one day a year that he is allowed to spread that truth around the world. It’s there waiting for you to see it, if only you will truly open your eyes and heart and believe again, like you used to, like you are supposed to, like you want to.