On the hill behind the village stood a red house with a white roof, no bigger than a shoebox. It had a letter slot, a shelf for parcels and a sign with an arrow pointing upwards. North Pole Post, it said. Here the world of people ended, and here Birk's work began.
Birk was the oldest postal elf there was. His beard was grey like January snow, his lantern hung from a pole, and his sled was full of letters, parcels and wishes nobody had spoken out loud yet. Every evening, when the sky turned from gold to blue, he pulled the sled up the hill.
This evening Mille came along. She held a letter the children had dropped into the mailbox in the hallway, with a wax seal and three drawings. “You may post it yourself,” said Birk. “But hold on tight. The wind up here has a sense of humour.”
Mille stood on tiptoe. The slot was high. She lifted the letter, and at that very moment the wind came. It took the letter, turned it twice in the air and laid it far back in the snow between two little fir trees.
“Oh,” said Birk. Mille said nothing. She ran. The snow reached up to her hat and every step was a small battle, but she thought of the three drawings and did not want anyone to find them under the snow in spring.
From a fir tree a snowy owl watched her, white as the roof of the post house, with eyes like two yellow lanterns. When Mille reached the letter it had slipped into a drift, too deep for her arms. The owl spread its wings, glided down without a sound, took the letter carefully in its beak and laid it in front of Mille's boots. Then it flew back to its branch as if nothing had happened.
“That is Luna,” said Birk when Mille came back, out of breath and covered in snow. “She helps when she thinks it is worth it. Mostly she does not think so.” This time he helped Mille onto the sled, and from there she slid the letter into the slot. It made a soft sound, like a book closing.
On the way back Mille asked how long a letter takes to reach the North Pole. “One night,” said Birk. “And the reply takes another. Everything important takes two nights.”
Two mornings later an envelope lay in front of the red door in the hallway, with a stamp shaped like a snowflake. The children found it before the cat did. What it said, only the family knew. But Mille knew that an owl and an old postal elf had made sure it arrived at all.
