Read time: 2 minutesGratitude

The Wave

A poem about a winter morning, a long-unseen face, and the quiet sparkle that stayed.

Snow had settled, clean and bright.

Everyone stepping out in shells of white.

A door, a field, a long-unseen face —

so far, so long, yet known in a single glance.

A young Asian woman with bob hair steps out of a door into bright snow, distant figures in winter coats

Before the mind could catch or hold,

the arm was up, and waving, bold.

Then a turning, a door, a return inside.

A small bright smile stayed by my side —

From a distance, a young Asian woman with bob hair sees a long-unseen face far away in the snow

and a little sparkle, light, lingering,

weightless, soft, and glimmering.

A table, a friend who knows this place,

whose stories only he can trace.

A young Asian woman with bob hair, arm lifted high, waving hello in softly falling snow

Sitting, listening, warm and clear —

and from that glance, a glow appear.

No need to appear in front of you,

yet knowing you know, and I know you do.

A young Asian woman with bob hair turns and walks back inside, warm golden light spilling through the door

In this field, I'm present, still.

No need to be confirmed — let it spill.

That presence lands its own sweet way.

The snow was clean. The coat was thin.

The heart was bright. And still light within.

A young Asian woman with bob hair sits at a table with a friend, warm interior light, quiet ease

If this poem brought a quiet moment to mind — a face, a wave, a small bright thing — carry it gently forward.

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A moment to pause

Presence doesn't always announce itself. Sometimes it arrives as a small wave, a quiet sparkle, a moment that needs no confirmation. If this poem brought something to mind, I'd love to hear what it was.

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