December 24

I love these days
when every cottage is a shrine
bright and holy
in winter darkness
bedecked with symbols of an ancient story
and a living tree.

When the doors of the heart
are flung wide open
to let in the light—
when every heart becomes a hearth
for the sacred flame of hope.
Even if it's only a flicker.
Even if it's only for a moment.
It is enough.

Even if the story of love
is told in a whisper
and heard in a dream
between twilight and darkness,

waking and sleep,
it is enough.

I love these days

in the depth of winter

when a light shines in the cairn

and every cottage becomes a shrine

because we make it so.