Hello Winter, From a Longleaf Pine

I stand rooted in West Central Louisiana, a longleaf pine keeping quiet watch over the rhythm of the days.

It is December first. The humans fuss over calendars, insisting winter has arrived. I shrug in silence. Frost may glint briefly across the yard. Ice settles now and then. Snow? Rare, fleeting, a story they tell each year, and still they hope for it. I understand that hope; it’s patient, stubborn, and somehow comforting.

They laugh at themselves, and I watch. One morning, bundled in thermal underwear, shivering at a mild breeze I barely notice. The next, shorts and short sleeves, daring the sun to linger a little longer. Life moves fast for them, yet here I remain, slow and steady, witnessing each turn. There is humor in it, and there is grace. Life, like winter here, rarely follows the schedule we set.

The Christmas lights go up, tiny flames against the brief cold. Humans pause to notice them, to smile, to reflect. I see it all: the small miracles that live between warmth and chill, the persistence of hope, the quiet delight of faithful waiting. Winter is fleeting here, whimsical and stubborn, yet it insists we slow down long enough to notice it, long enough to hope.

I remain, a longleaf pine among many, rooted, enduring, quietly observing the humans dancing between cold and sun, ice and light. There is patience in winter, humor in their rhythm, and hope in every flicker of light. That is enough.