A Season of Light
Poem & Reflection · November 15, 2025
There are poems we write with fire — and others, we write with a flame.
When I wrote A Season of Light, I wasn’t chasing beauty. I was listening. Outside, frost crept along the glass like a slow hand. Inside, there was warmth — not from the heater, but from the memory of someone waiting. The porch light. A voice calling you home. That hush, before the laughter begins. The quiet after. This poem is for those moments. Not the loud ones. The true ones. It’s a reminder that the season we love — the one lit by carols, candles, and memory — is not made of what we buy, but of what we hold. Who we hold. And how gently we choose to live. The finest gift is not a thing, but a way of being. There is silver on the windowpane, yes — but also gold in the silence. That’s where this poem lives. In the spaces between gestures. In the breath before a word is spoken. In the moment you decide to sit down and stay a while. As winter deepens, I offer you this flame. Small, soft, but burning true. May it find you whole, or healing. And may it light the way — even just a little — through the season ahead.“Let kindness be the flame you tend — A light no winter storm can bend.”
Read the full poem and analysis tomorrow 15.11.2025: https://alkonda.com/2025/11/15/the-poem-of-the-day-34/© Al Konda · The Winter Child Poet