Oh, hush-
do you hear it?
That quicksilver giggle
slipping between the rafters,
that tiny scuffle of boots
far too small
to belong to anyone invited?
The Imps of Yule are out tonight,
braiding tinsel into the air itself,
tugging the tails of stray snowflakes
and sending them cartwheeling
in reckless delight.
The moon hangs low,
a silver troublemaker,
winking like it knows
every prank about to unfold.
And the stars?
Don’t get me started.
They’re sparkling far too brightly
to be innocent.
Inside, the fire pops sharply-
not in warning,
but in laughter,
as if it’s sharing a joke
with the woodpile.
The flames sway in mischief,
casting shadows shaped
suspiciously like hats tipping
and small boots leaping
across the walls.
Someone swears
their cocoa moved on its own.
Someone else claims
a marshmallow winked.
And the ribbons?
They’ve begun tying themselves,
wrapping gifts
with a dramatic flourish
no human could ever muster.
Even the evergreen trembles-
not from the draft,
but from the tickling of something
unseen and wildly gleeful
climbing through its branches
like a festive acrobat.
Outside, the snow has joined in,
falling in plump, theatrical flakes
that land on the windows
with great ceremony-
each one declaring,
“Behold! I have arrived!”
Laughter erupts,
quick and bright,
as if joy itself has grown impatient
and refuses to wait
for permission to enter.
It spills across the room
like a runaway sleigh,
pulling everyone along for the ride.
And just when the night feels
on the edge of tipping
into absolute chaos-
the candles steady,
their flames settling
into soft, benevolent grins.
For even Yule’s wildest magic
knows when to soften,
when to let warmth
slip quietly between the jokes.
By dawn,
the imps will scatter-
leaving behind only
a few suspiciously perfect bows,
a cocoa mug that appears
mysteriously refilled,
and the faintest trace
of giggles in the corners.
But you’ll know.
You’ll feel the sparkle
in your bones all day,
that twinkle on your tongue
as if you’ve bitten into starlight.
Because mischief-
gentle, glittering mischief-
is part of the season’s pulse.
And tonight, it danced
right through you.