A helpless child strategically abandoned at the imposing home of a local magistrate, who has no time for unexpected complications and quickly sends the infant away.
But as it's transported to its new lodging a mighty wind serendipitously picks up, and wildly blows it into the forest where the resident animals note its landing.
They swiftly aid the oblivious child and beatifically bring it to a new dwelling, where the jolly inhabitants warmly welcome their newfound friend with fly enthusiasm.
Delicate toy makers by trade, they're able to teach the young learner their craft, while also emphasizing useful subjects to encourage flourishing knowledgeable industry (the animals also help out).
They've been making toys for some time but have been unable to share them, since they can't move them across the mountain which the Winter Warlock haunts.
On the other side of the mountain lies gloomy morose Sombretown, which keeps things unexceptional without much colour, spice, or flavour.
The baby all grown up, he decides to defy the Warlock and bring the toys to Sombretown.
Just as they mayor madly decrees.
That toys from now on are forbidden.
Kind-hearted wisdom innocently tasked with fluently delivering joy and wonder, his candid pluck widely overflowing with resourceful freeform humble simplicity.
One of my favourite depictions of Santa which I didn't discover until recently, Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass at their best as they freely conjure childlike imagination.
If more people thought like this Santa and loved and lived spontaneous play, kinder hearts would likely cultivate a much less cold and calculating aesthetic.
His flight likely already having begun, the tantalized world vehemently awaiting his gifts.
Miraculous speed, transformative knowhow.
Nothing quite like it.
Blessed artistry.
*Merry Christmas / Joyeux Noël / Happy Holidays!
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