A Visit From St. Clickolas – 2024

Many people get depressed amidst the joy of the holiday season. I’ve been told that for some it’s because they’ve been living in fear that I would update and publish a new version of A Visit From St. Clickolas again this year. It’s my remake from a photographer’s perspective of the classic Christmas poem, A Visit From St. Nicholas. I’m sorry to say that their worst fears have come true. That’s right, it’s time for the 2024 version.

World events are now such that we often find it difficult to know what is true and what is not. Just this year I became aware that perhaps Clement Clark Moore isn’t really the author of A Visit From St. Nicholas after all. It seems that Major Henry Livingston, Jr. might be the actual author. What has the world come to when you can’t even find truth in Christmas traditions? The next thing you know, some demented person will say Santa Claus (St. Nicholas) doesn’t exist. Well I’m here to tell you that St. Nicholas and St. Clickolas do exist!

So, as always, with my sincerest apologies to both Moore and Livingston and most importantly you, I have updated the poem.

A Visit From St. Clickolas – 2024

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house;
The only sound you heard, was the click of my mouse,
My photos are finished and edited with care.
There all on my computer but heaven knows where;
Mamma and I were settling down for a rest;
But I can’t find my files and now I’m so stressed,
When through the window I heard such a noise;
I had to reduce it because you know it annoys:
The noise was so loud it instantly awoke us;
I put on my glasses to let my eyes auto-focus
Away to the window I flew in a dash;
It helped that I just cleared my Photoshop cache,
Using auto-ISO on the new-fallen snow;
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what on my camera LCD did appear;
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick;
I knew in a moment he must be St. Click.

He flies long distances and all at night;
But he sees his way with his trusty Speedlite,
More rapid than burst mode his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Adams! now, Lange! now Maier and Leibovitz!
On, Capa! on, Karsh! on, Daguerre and Stieglitz!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now flash away! flash away! flash away all!”
Down through the chimney he quickly did land;
Fitting nicely in the flue with generative expand,
He looked in his bag; it was all AI this and AI that;
Which caused the smiles on our faces to simply fall flat,
Cuz while AI may be art, it’s not a photo;
So, with AI I’ve reached my quota,
Santa you can forget the AI;
I’d rather have a better photographer’s eye,
I may not be as good as AI and that’s just fine;
Because in the end I know it’s all mine,

I’m shooting older model DSLR;
I’m thankful it’s gotten me this far.
Although it still works, I have to say nonetheless;
I think it’s time to finally switch to a mirrorless,
I hope you brought the Canon R5 Mark II;
I’d really like one all shiny and new,
If you’re thinking some better, perhaps, maybe;
I’d happily settle for a Hasselblad X2D,
He looked at me closely and let out a big sigh;
It's not the gear that matters; it's how good is your eye.
He said I know there is gear for which you are yearning;
But hone your skills, keep striving and learning,
The harder you try, the further you’ll go;
Wise words indeed from Santa-bro,
I thanked him for this and wished him good cheer;
The lesson he taught me will last me all year.
Soon I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all Good Light!”

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