To the Winter Child

Happy Birthday

Perhaps winter
is the quietest of all seasons.

Snow begins to fall,
and winter slows,
taking a gentle breath
as the cold settles in.

Into that clear, shining whiteness,
you were born—
a child of winter.

Though cold winds make us draw inward,
you parted the frozen air
and, from that narrow space,
with strength and quiet resolve,
made yourself known to the world.

The first cry
of a winter child.
Like winter itself,
you do not open easily,
but once you hold on,
you never let go.

In your small, tightly closed hand
remains a warmth
that lingers,
long after the moment has passed—
the warmth of a winter child.

Winter never rushes.
It teaches us how to wait,
how to endure.

With eyes that speak more deeply than words,
in the very heart of winter,
you were born of love.

Today,
may blessings
cleaner than fresh snow
settle softly upon you.

Winter child,
we celebrate you.
Happy birthday.

*these are my own paintings*