Olle's Ski Trip

The world was white and still. Snow lay on roof and road, on tree and fence. Olle had his very first pair of skis. They were bright and new, and he could not stop smiling. His mother wrapped him in his warm coat, woolly socks, and red cap.

"Stay on the path, little skier," she said. "Do not go too far. Come home before dark."

"I will!" said Olle, and off he slid, swish, swish, over the soft snow.

The forest stood tall and quiet. The pines wore fat, white hats. Tiny tracks crossed the path—hare prints like little commas, and bird toes like stars. Olle’s breath made clouds in the cold air. His cheeks tingled. Something sparkled on the branches like silver.

A tiny man with a frosty beard stepped from behind a tree. He wore a coat that glittered with ice.

"I am Jack Frost," he said, tapping Olle’s nose. "I paint the windows and dust the woods with white. Come along. Someone wishes to see the brave boy on new skis."

Olle followed Jack Frost deeper into the snowy hush. They came to a wide, bright clearing. There, on a high throne carved of snow, sat King Winter himself. He had a long white beard and a crown of icicles that chimed, ping, ping, in the light breeze.

"Welcome, little skier," rumbled King Winter. His voice was deep and kind. "I have watched you glide so well. Will you ride with me and see my kingdom?"

Olle’s eyes grew round. "Yes, please!"

A sleigh as white as a snowdrift waited beside the throne. Silver bells sang when King Winter shook the reins. Two white reindeer stamped and tossed their heads. Jack Frost hopped up to drive, and Olle tucked himself under a soft fur blanket.

Away they flew over fields and rivers frozen like glass. Jack Frost waved his paintbrush, and ferny flowers bloomed on windowpanes. The North Wind raced them along, tossing powdery snow into glittery clouds. Above them the sky hung pale and bright, and the world below shone blue and white.

They skimmed past a lake asleep under ice, where fish dreamed in the still water. They slid along hedges where sparrows huddled and fluffed their feathers. They sailed under tall cliffs edged with long, clear icicles, chiming like tiny bells.

"All this is my work," said King Winter, smiling. "I lock the streams, I lay the snow, I polish the stars on cold nights."

Soon the sleigh glided to a great palace built of snow and ice. Inside, icicles hung like crystal lamps. The halls gleamed. Snowflake Children came dancing, each one a starry splinter, white and laughing.

"Come play!" they sang. "Come slide and throw snowballs!"

Olle slid across shiny floors and rode on a sled down a smooth, snowy hill. He helped build a tiny house with snow-block walls and a roof that sparkled. Jack Frost showed him how to catch a falling flake on his mitten and see its six tiny points.

At last, King Winter clapped his hands. "It is growing late. Your mother will be watching the door."

They climbed back into the sleigh. The reindeer flew like arrows, and the bells chimed a quick song. At the edge of the forest, the light turned rose and gold.

"Home you go," said King Winter. He laid a cool hand on Olle’s cap. "Come visit again while the snow is deep."

Olle slid down the path, swish, swish, swish, his heart light. His mother stood by the gate, and her eyes shone when she saw him.

Days passed. The sun climbed higher. Drip, drop, drip went the icicles. The snow grew soft at noon and crusty at night. One morning, Olle heard a new sound—little brooks laughing under the snow.

Down the lane came Lady Thaw. She wore a blue cloak that shone like water, and her hair was the color of warm sunshine.

"Good day, Olle," she said. "Make way for my streams and flowers."

She touched the snow with her gentle hand, and it melted into clear water. The black earth peeped out. In the garden, tiny green tips pushed up. Snowdrops rang their white bells softly.

Olle looked toward the forest. On a far hill, King Winter lifted his hand in farewell. His icicle crown was thinner now, and Jack Frost waved his brush one last time.

"Goodbye, King Winter!" called Olle. "Thank you for the rides and the games!"

"Sleep your skis now," whispered Lady Thaw. "You will need them again when winter returns."

Olle dried his skis and put them away carefully. Then he ran to the brook to listen to its song and to look for the first flowers, happy to meet spring—yet glad to know that when the world turns white again, King Winter will come, and he will ski, swish, swish, into the bright, cold magic once more.