This year, people had not been kind to one another in the days before Christmas. The sky grew angry and wrapped itself in heavy, dark clouds.
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Instead of snow, as punishment, flakes mixed with raindrops fell upon the people. In one part of the sky, thick storm clouds gathered and clashed. Out of their fury burst a tremendous downpour. Raindrops poured heavily onto the earth, and frightened people in the streets hurried away in search of shelter. Once safe, they grumbled about the dreary winter weather. They never realised that they had brought it upon themselves.
By evening, at last, the weather calmed. The air turned cold, and the clouds, exhausted, began to part. From their final touch was born a tiny snowflake, drifting slowly down to earth. Yet she was not the pure white of ordinary snowflakes. Born from storm clouds, she was black, grey and white – a flake unlike any other.
“Wait for me!” she called after the last raindrops still tumbling down. But they would not wait – raindrops never wish to mix with snow. Have you ever seen rain fall as snow? The little flake hovered in the air, reluctant to land on the waterlogged ground. A gentle breeze came along, toying with her, lifting her here and there. He was curious, for he had never seen such a flake before. At times he let her fall, then whisked her upwards again, until at last she met other snowflakes drifting down from friendlier clouds.
“You are such an ugly flake,” they laughed. “Why are you not large and white like us? Thankfully there is only one of you. Who could delight in black-and-grey-white snow? And imagine what snowmen would look like!” The words hurt the snowflake deeply; she only wanted to belong.
The poor and now a very unhappy snowflake drifted down through the air and landed in a field where crows were quarrelling. Despite their squawking, they heard her sobbing in a furrow. “What has happened to you?” they asked. “I am not snow-white. I do not belong to the snow,” sighed the flake. “What can I do? I suppose I must melt away.”
From the flock stepped an old, wise crow who had survived many winters. “Certainly not. Every flake has its place upon the Earth, every flake has a purpose. Perhaps we should ask the people; among them there may be some older and wiser than us.”
One crow lifted the snowflake onto her back, and with the others soared into the air. Soon they landed on a mighty chestnut tree beside a church. With wonder the flake gazed at the procession of people entering for Midnight Mass. The bells rang from the tower. Alarmed, the crows scattered, and the flake tumbled from their wings. Through a small gap in the roof she drifted into the church. There she watched in amazement as the congregation sang with joy.
Candles glowed everywhere, air filled with the smell of melting wax. And their light shimmered within her, until she herself shone. The strength of the singing and the glow of the candles lifted her high.
The flake grew sorrowful. That brief moment filled with light had been the most beautiful in her short life. She no longer wished to be part of the snow. She longed instead to shine like the candles in the church, like the eyes of people singing the Christmas carol of joy.
Then came the familiar breeze. This time he did not play with her, but gently lifted her and blew her towards the square. There stood a Christmas tree, lonely yet magnificently adorned with lights. At its peak was a great star – unlit. The snowflake alighted upon it. From there she watched as the people left the church and gathered in the square. Voices and children’s laughter filled the air. Then silence fell, and someone lit the star. It shone with the brightest light the town had ever seen. Its beams caught the snowflake, making her dazzlingly white.
Overcome with joy, she dissolved into a thousand tiny sparks that the star’s light carried into the hearts of all who stood below. There, they warmed the people, and in their eyes it was plain to see that each had discovered, that night, a new fragment of joy within themselves. And the ugly weather—and the ugliness in people’s hearts—was gone.
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