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Today, on April 18th, my rain barrel ran dry. My hydrangeas are parched and wilted; I doubt they will flower, and my erstwhile beautiful double lilacs have shriveled on their branches, their fragrant bloomsonly a memory. And I live in rainy green Normandy, not in the south. This has already happened once before, a couple of years ago, and everyone was shocked at that time, as I’m sure that you know that people who say, “I love Paris in the Springtime” are most likely to be “Singing in the Rain.”
But this is the second timethis has happened this year – the first time was at the end of February, when we were having 75° degree weather here in Normandy. Yes, you read that correctly. Seventy-five degrees in February. In Normandy. Though it was enjoyable, it was mostly… creepy. Hmmm, methinks that something doesn’t seem right about this.
Yes, Donald, climate change does exist. Your little friends are wrong. They don’t believe what everyone else can see. Not believe in climate change? You might as well not believe in the moon, orbiting around the Earth, orbiting around the sun. And the earth is round, not flat, just in case you were wondering about that too.
And I do hope that a thousand years from now, Donald, we as humans will still exist, animals will still exist, on our beautiful blue planet.
In the meanwhile, if you need me, I’ll be outside doing a rain dance.
VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.