it never came

A nine foot Santa towers in a yard across the street at work. He gazes straight ahead fixedly as though stunned, a wreath clutched in his big inflated hands.
I recognize the look.
Have felt it myself.
Poor Santa.
Still, I think he is doing better than the Minion up the street. Minions are sadly top heavy, a terrible flaw in an inflatable lawn ornament.  At least Santa is still upright. The Minion has spent the past few weeks face down examining the lawn or on his back, gazing up at the sky, endlessly watching for snow.
It never came.