The candles have spoken their names
and burned themselves down to quiet truths.
Hope learned to endure,
Joy softened into stillness,
Peace found room in the ache,
Love bent low and stayed.

Now the wreath holds its breath.

We have walked the long way
through promise and patience,
through prayers that did not hurry God.
The road narrows here.
Words thin.
Attention sharpens.

Above us, the Star is already on its way,
not rushing,
not dazzling the world into belief,
only faithful to its slow arrival.
It waits to rest where heaven touches earth,
over a town too small to notice its own becoming.

We stand between what has been spoken
and what will soon be flesh.
Between the dark that has not yet lifted
and the Light that refuses to be delayed.

Still waiting.
Not empty.
Not idle.
Pregnant with promise.

Every breath leans forward.
Every silence listens.

The Star draws nearer.
The night learns its name.