Bixby’s Candy Cane Compass — Across the mantel, Bixby bounced from stocking to stocking, nose twitching at the spicy smell of cinnamon pinecones. Read the full story →
Across the mantel, Bixby bounced from stocking to stocking, nose twitching at the spicy smell of cinnamon pinecones. He tucked a bent candy cane under his chin because its red hook always pointed somewhere new. First it pointed to a ribbon. Then it pointed to a holly berry. “Faster!” Bixby whispered, and his hooves made soft thump-thump sounds in the fuzzy stocking toe.
The cane wiggled toward the fireplace bricks, then swung back toward Bixby’s own chest. He giggled so hard the bow on the holly shook. That was when he heard tiny sighs rising from every stocking—sleepy wishes, warm as cocoa steam. The candy cane was not showing him where to go. It was showing him where wishes were landing. Bixby nestled deeper, antlers high, ready to catch the next one; can you spot the candy cane compass tucked beside him?
