Snow Angels: The Magical Creatures of Winter Night

Snow Angels

Dear Mr. H.C. Andersen,

You may think you have encountered every strange and mythical being this world has to offer. But as someone fascinated by magical creatures, I must gently assure you that there are wonders still unknown. Allow me to share a story from a cold winter night, when I was just eight years old—a tale that will surely expand your list of enchanted beings.

Yours truly,
A World-Famous Zoologist

Under the cloak of night, when the world is hushed and blanketed in snow, mysterious creatures awaken. They are draped in feathers as dark as midnight, yet when bathed in moonlight, their wings shimmer like silver cloaks. Often mistaken for crows, blackbirds, or magpies, especially as snowflakes settle upon their wings, these creatures blur the lines between bird and spirit. Were you to glimpse their faces, you might swear you were seeing ghosts.

These elusive beings reveal themselves only to children, those pure of heart and rich in imagination. Drawn by innocent curiosity, they perch silently on windowsills like timid cats, their wide, owl-like eyes drinking in the sight of children playing by candlelight or whispering stories from bed to bed. Enchanted by the warmth of youthful wonder, they cannot contain their delight—soon leaping into the sky with joyous cries, their wings beating wildly in the frosty air. Hearing these sounds, children press their noses against the glass, eyes wide in amazement.

When the snowfall is light, you might glimpse ethereal forms dusted with frost, catch a glimpse of delicate wings, or hear their high-pitched calls echoing through the still night. Most children, unsure whether they are seeing birds or phantoms, either drift back to sleep or scream in fright before fleeing to hide.

Yet one brave child dared to seek out these “ghosts.” She lived near a lonely forest, a young naturalist whose heart was set on discovering every creature hidden among the trees and mud. By seven, she had cataloged squirrels, badgers, owls, beetles, foxes, faeries, birch elves, river nymphs—even traces of the legendary Jabberwock. Fortunately, she never encountered witches or the Jabberwock itself, for such horrors might have stopped her explorations. Instead, she ventured as far as her courage allowed, drawing and recording all she saw.

One night, thick snow fell like a curtain around her home. Speaking softly to herself about the animals she’d found, she suddenly heard a sharp snap! snap! snap!—the unmistakable sound of her father’s animal traps snapping shut.

With determination, she pulled on her boots and coat, stuffed mittens and woolly hat on, grabbed her notebook and pencil, and crept toward the window. The storm raged fiercely; snow hammered the glass and blurred her view, but she caught the faint sound of beating wings and the struggling of something trapped at the forest’s edge—creatures half human, half bird.

Sliding down the drainpipe, she braved the biting wind that felt like knives against her face. Removing one glove to hold her pencil steady, she approached the trapped beings. Up close, they were soft and fuzzy-faced, their eyes wild and gentle like frightened ponies. They were ensnared in ropes and metal clamps—her father’s traps meant to keep rabbits and gnomes off the garden.

The notebook pages flapped wildly in the wind as she sketched hurriedly. Suddenly, her father’s angry shout shattered the silence. “P_____! Don’t you dare free those creatures! You know they steal all the vegetables! Don’t move!”

He rushed to fetch his shotgun, desperate to stop her. But the girl, her heart full of kindness, ignored his orders. After finishing her drawings, she quietly loosened the ropes and released the creatures.

With a sudden burst of strength, three magnificent winged beings took flight, their feathers shimmering in the moonlight. Shots rang out behind them, but the creatures vanished into the night before harm could reach them.

Her father stood furious, breath steaming in the cold air. “I told you! I told you not to let them go!” he spat.

“They weren’t thieves, Dad,” the girl insisted softly. “They were angels, with hearts of pure gold.”

“Angels?” he scoffed. “They’re just rabbits or gnomes. Now you made me miss. They’ll come back and ruin everything.”

“They won’t,” she said firmly, pointing to the ground. “Look at the marks they left—the shapes in the snow.” She showed him her notebook, matching the sketches to the strange imprints. Her father’s face paled as he examined the evidence.

“I almost shot angels,” he whispered, horror-struck. Slowly, he dropped his gun and knelt, breaking his traps with trembling hands. Together, they stared into the silent woods, a new wonder blooming between them.

And then, with reverent voices, her father began to pray.

This story speaks of magical beings—snow angels—who leave delicate wing-shaped imprints in the snow. Thanks to one brave child, her father’s heart was opened to kindness. Remember, these wondrous creatures might still be caught in traps or mistaken for pests. Spread the word so that hunting of these gentle snow angels can be stopped, and their magic preserved.

Moral:
True kindness comes from seeing beyond fear and misunderstanding. Sometimes, what seems like danger may be a blessing in disguise. Protect the unseen wonders around you with love and courage.