Winter’s Shy Light

Winter, you know, it’s got this kind of light.

It's not loud like summer, nor rich like fall, it's... different.

It's this shy light, peeking, barely there.

Like a dream you're trying to remember, but it slips away.

It's silver, kind of, like an old photo,

painting everything quiet and still.

And inside, right, there's this other light.

The kind that pools around an old lamp, all golden.

It's cozy, makes shadows dance slow on the walls,

like they got nowhere to be.

In that glow, everything feels like a memory,

whispering stories, warming your hands.

There's something about it being so rare,

makes you appreciate it more, you know?

You pay attention, 'cause it's not shouting, it's whispering.

Makes you look closer, listen harder.

In the heart of winter, light’s like a rare visitor,

leaves footprints in your mind.

It's this quiet, steady thing,

reminding you that even when it's cold,

there’s this little glow, just enough

to light your way.