Listen to “The Snowflake Fairy” on Spreaker.
High above the clouds lived a tiny fairy named Fern, the Snowflake Fairy. Every winter, when the air turned frosty, Fern came out with her silver paintbrush and painted snowflakes in beautiful patterns. No two were ever the same.
Some snowflakes got swirls.
Some got stars.
Some got little hearts hidden inside.
Then Fern would release them into the wind and watch them tumble down to Earth like glitter from the sky.
Fern loved her job. She loved seeing children press their faces to windows, trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues. She loved hearing people gasp, “Look how beautiful!” even though they didn’t know she was the one who painted them.
One December morning, as Fern was painting snowflakes over the town of Silver Pine, she twirled happily in the air — a little too happily.
Her fingers slipped.
Her paintbrush tumbled out of her hands and dropped straight through a gap in the clouds.
Fern gasped.
“No, no, no! My brush!”
Without the brush, snowflakes would fall plain and blank — just white little blobs with no patterns, no magic.
Fern darted down after it, but she couldn’t fly lower than the cloud line. Fairy magic couldn’t reach the ground.
She sat on the edge of the cloud and cried softly as plain snow began to fall onto the town below.
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Down on the ground, a girl named Mia stepped outside to catch the first snow of winter. She twirled in her boots and held out her mitten.
But when the snowflake landed on her glove, she frowned.
“It looks… blank,” she whispered.
Mia bent down and noticed something half-buried in the snow. It was tiny — no bigger than a toothpick — and it shimmered like silver moonlight.
A paintbrush.
She picked it up and held it close. “This isn’t normal,” she said. “This feels like magic.”
That night, she took a sheet of dark paper and gently touched the brush to it. A white snowflake pattern appeared — sparkling and perfect.
Mia gasped.
“This must belong to a snow fairy!”
She ran to the window, searching the sky. High above the clouds, Fern saw her — a girl holding up the paintbrush as if asking, Is this yours?
Fern jumped up and down excitedly and waved.
“I think someone needs help,” Mia whispered.
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The next morning, Mia bundled up and ran outside. She pointed the paintbrush to the sky and swirled it gently.
A snowflake drifted out — more beautiful than any she had ever seen.
Fern cheered from above. Mia laughed.
Together — one in the clouds, one on the ground — they painted snowflakes across the whole sky.
Mia twirled her arm to make big snowflakes.
Fern added the tiny details.
Hearts, stars, spirals, snow animals, dancing patterns — magic filled the air.
Soon people in the town started coming outside.
“Look at the snow!”
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“It’s beautiful!”
Children held out their hands to catch snowflakes. Adults stopped and stared in wonder. Even dogs looked up, watching the shimmering swirls in the sky.
Fern pointed to the church clock — it was almost Christmas Eve. She mimed a hug and waved goodbye.
Mia understood. It was time for Fern to go finish her winter work.
She lifted the paintbrush and blew on it gently, like blowing out a candle.
A soft wind rose from the clouds — the brush lifted from her hand and floated up, up, up.
Fern caught it and twirled happily. She bowed to Mia in midair before disappearing into the snowy sky.
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On Christmas Eve, snowflakes fell thicker than ever. Mia sat by the window with a mug of hot chocolate. She whispered, “Happy Christmas, Fern. Thank you.”
A snowflake drifted down and landed on the glass right in front of her.
It had a tiny heart inside.
Mia smiled. “You’re welcome.”
And from that winter on, every time snow fell over Silver Pine, Mia looked up at the sky and wondered if Fern was painting just for her.
The end.
❓ Follow-Up Questions
- Why was Fern sad when she lost her paintbrush?
- How did Mia help bring the magic of snowflakes back to the town?
- What do you think the tiny heart in the last snowflake was meant to say?
