December has a unique glow, a fleeting kind of light that feels both fragile and resilient. It is the month where the year exhales its last breath, and everything seems to whisper this too shall pass. The days grow shorter, and yet there is a softness in the way the un brushes the horizon—a kind of farewell.
Yet, in every ending, there’s a quiet illumination—a spark that promises transformation. The year-end rituals of wrapping presents, closing notebooks, and storing away memories are not acts of finality but of honoring the light that was. It’s as if the closing of the year asks us to truly see what has passed, to let the glow of understanding settle before we step forward.
I think of nature's rhythms—the trees stripped bare, the earth resting. There is no desperation in their endings, only a quiet trust in the cycles of renewal. As I hold onto this thought, I allow myself to linger in this month of endings without fear. Instead of rushing to the next chapter, I choose to let December’s illumination guide me—softly, patiently—through the shadows of closure.
