Sometimes January asks us not to rush, but simply to notice what’s already glowing. This poem came from one of those quiet moments — sitting with a candle, letting the day arrive slowly.
A flare of power,
a breath of heat —
and you bloom.
a quiet miracle.
I watch your soft energy rise,
your perfect arc of movement
curling around the wick,
a small sun
learning its sky.
You take your place with grace,
spilling calm across my desk,
offering peace
and the tender promise
of a...