It was one of those Christmas moments. A brief incident out of a busy Saturday.

The photos from that day are sitting here, waiting for the words to be put down so they can be displayed.

But there are no pictures from that Moment.

And the words have not come. I just seem to keep finding other things to do.

But that Moment...

Well, I don't want to lose that.

We were at the Christmas bazaar for the wife and eldest son's favorite local organization. He'd been there since they opened that morning, but her shift at the concessions stand didn't start 'til noon.

They probably wouldn't need me until things shut down at three. They could really use help with clean-up.

My choice if I wanted to drive her in at noon, go home, and then come back at three o'clock.

Or just stay for three hours.

I stayed.

Tina, the lead elf of the outfit, couldn't find anything for me to do.

So I emptied the trash cans.

And wandered the many vendors' tables. Not much exciting or new, but a few things. The hand-tooled leather work was new and pretty, but a little pricy, too.

The local "professional" nature photographers were there with framed shots. Many of which I was envious, but a few I have better.

My Aspen Alley is every bit as good as theirs.

And I took a few pictures of the bazaar. Just simple snapshots in case the historic group wants some for a newsletter or something. Wandering views of the shoppers, vendors and volunteers. Mostly too blurred to use because we're all inside the less than bright community center. Most in the huge East Ballroom.

A few overflow tables ended up in the smaller West Ballroom. Like the folks with the sleighbell necklaces (bought one for the wife, to go with her elf hat), and the Mennonite baked goods.

Sort of like being at the kids' table at Thanksgiving dinner. Not a lot of customers found them.

But it was this segregation of some vendors into the West Ballroom that brought The Special Moment.

But I get ahead of myself.

My hands were full of a couple extra chairs for the concessions table when he came walking in.

The Great Clause.

He strode in through the ballroom doors with a smile on his face, and headed for the first child he saw. And they gathered around him, in twos and threes, as he wandered the ballroom tables, spreading holiday cheer.

A couple women looked like they knew him, but the man in the Red Suit was no one I recognized.

He was Santa.

And each child that visited with him walked away with a small plastic bag tied with a bright ribbon, taken from deep inside Santa's sack.

Little bags filled with dried fruit, granola bars and nuts.

No candy.

I was told the elf volunteer in charge of filling Santa's sack this year has a personal campaign against sugar candy.

The kids didn't look disappointed at all.

As I set my chairs down for the overflowing lunch crowd, I swung around hoping to get a photo or two of our Northern Visitor making his rounds. But, being fleet of foot, he was already making his way to the exit. I followed out the East Ballroom doors, but he was already through the atrium and down to the front doors by the time I got through the crowd. I stood at the top of the stairs, between the two ballrooms, and decided there was no reason to turn the camera on and get a photo of Santa's backside through the front door glass.

And then it happened.

A small boy came bursting out of the West Ballroom, dragging his young mother by the hand.

"I saw him! I saw him!" his excited voice was shouting, but hers was tired and sceptical.

Until they reached the top of the stairs in front of me.

"Yep, that was Him," she said with resignation as Santa neared the waiting car at the end of the front walk. You could see her shoulders droop as she anticipated her son's disappointment.

But children live in a different world than thee and me. Or this young mother. Because her son broke free of her hand and dashed down the steps, and through the double doors.

"Santa! Santa!" I heard his thin child's voice cry out through the closing doors and our winter wind.

I started down the stairs, a few steps behind the mother, hoping to add my adult voice to the boy's.

But it wasn't necessary.

Santa's ears are tuned to the voices of children, and he froze, midway into the car, his bag already on the front seat.

He looked behind the car first, and then turned back towards the door to see a young boy dashing towards him.

Santa stepped back out and waited, on one knee. And dug into his sack for a bag of Christmas treats for this little boy.

And another for his mother.

The doors had closed behind her, so their conversaton was private, but I watched as Santa wished the mother a Merry Christmas, waved, and then entered his modern sleigh.

She turned back towards the building, a smile on her face. One hand resting gently on the shoulder of her son.

Clutching his present from Santa, face abeaming.

And me with my camera still slung over my shoulder...