Winter presses its thumb upon the world,
Sealing the earth in silver silence.
The year exhales, frayed at the edges,
And Christmas enters as a patient flame.

Homes become sanctuaries of light,
Windows speaking in amber hush.
Time loosens its grip around the table,
Hours dissolving into remembrance.

We unwrap more than ribbon and paper—
Old mercies, fragile hopes, relearned grace.
Christmas is not a day we possess,
But a threshold we finally cross.