"December Star Wishes" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Snow sifted gently through the tall pines, soft as breath, soft as memory. The December night lay hushed and shimmering, the kind of night when the world feels older than time and younger than dawn. Liam walked the narrow trail with the slow, steady steps of a man who had traveled many roads—some chosen, some thrust upon him, and some stumbled into the way a stranger stumbles upon grace.
The woods were familiar yet changed, draped in winter’s solemn beauty. Frost clung to every branch like tiny shattered stars, and the sky above him was a pewter bowl of snow clouds. He tugged his scarf higher, breath clouding the cold air. He had come out here to clear his thoughts, to walk off a heaviness he could not name.
Then, as if the night itself had taken a deep breath and released it, the clouds parted.
Above him—bright, impossible, whole—shone a single brilliant star.
Liam stopped mid-step. His heart lifted, tightened, then softened into something he had not felt in years. This star—this very star—looked exactly as it had on a winter night long ago, when he was only eight, bundled in a blue coat and wool hat, standing in his parents’ backyard with snowflakes melting on his cheeks. He had made a wish then—his first true wish. A child’s wish. A wish shaped out of hope and wonder and the belief that the universe listened.
The grown man he had become—the one tested by time, worn by grief, lifted by unexpected joys, remade by life’s twists—felt the child rise in him again. The old dream stirred.
He whispered into the stillness, “I remember you.”
The star shimmered as if it heard.
And in that moment the forest changed. The hush deepened. The cold softened. Liam felt suspended between the man he was and the child he had been. Without meaning to, without thinking, he closed his eyes and made a wish. A new wish. Born from wisdom, from tenderness, from the long arc of a life lived fully—with all its bruises and all its blessings.
He did not speak the wish aloud. Some wishes are too sacred for sound.
When he opened his eyes, the star seemed even brighter, and something inside him shifted. Not dramatically, not with fanfare… but surely. The kind of shift that gently alters the course of a life.
He trudged on through the snowy woods, no longer seeking clarity but carrying it. The night felt warmer, the path steadier. He walked forward changed—quietly, profoundly—by the star he thought he had lost, and by the child he realized he had never truly left behind.
* * * * * * * * * *
Although no brilliant star greets this December morning—still dark outside the windows—I find myself gazing at the soft lights of the Christmas tree. Their gentle glow ushers me from the reverie of the story into the warm quiet of the wee cottage.
One of my Christmas coffee mugs sits beside me, full to the brim with deliciousness. The aroma rises like a blessing. Hauser’s cello brings Morricone’s Once Upon a Time in the West to life, each note a ribbon of beauty drifting through the morning stillness. Frost has etched its own artistry upon the windowpanes—silver, delicate, fleeting.
It is a peaceful moment of bliss, and into this space come these words:
“Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”
I pause with them. Turn them over. Let them settle.
These words remind me of the quiet power of positivity—how an uplifted mind can steady us through rough waters, how choosing hope helps us see the world not as bleak or burdened but as layered with possibility.
Change your thinking, change your life. Such a simple idea. Such a profound truth.
I take a sip of coffee and glance out the window. It is now light enough to see a man walking his golden retriever, the dog’s tail a happy metronome against the white snow. Life goes on—softly, steadily, beautifully.
And so, I walk into this day… carrying the star’s reminder, the child’s wonder, and the belief that hope is never lost—it simply waits for us to look up.
"At any moment, the universe can hand you back the star you wished upon as a child." ~Unknown
~Wylddane
The woods were familiar yet changed, draped in winter’s solemn beauty. Frost clung to every branch like tiny shattered stars, and the sky above him was a pewter bowl of snow clouds. He tugged his scarf higher, breath clouding the cold air. He had come out here to clear his thoughts, to walk off a heaviness he could not name.
Then, as if the night itself had taken a deep breath and released it, the clouds parted.
Above him—bright, impossible, whole—shone a single brilliant star.
Liam stopped mid-step. His heart lifted, tightened, then softened into something he had not felt in years. This star—this very star—looked exactly as it had on a winter night long ago, when he was only eight, bundled in a blue coat and wool hat, standing in his parents’ backyard with snowflakes melting on his cheeks. He had made a wish then—his first true wish. A child’s wish. A wish shaped out of hope and wonder and the belief that the universe listened.
The grown man he had become—the one tested by time, worn by grief, lifted by unexpected joys, remade by life’s twists—felt the child rise in him again. The old dream stirred.
He whispered into the stillness, “I remember you.”
The star shimmered as if it heard.
And in that moment the forest changed. The hush deepened. The cold softened. Liam felt suspended between the man he was and the child he had been. Without meaning to, without thinking, he closed his eyes and made a wish. A new wish. Born from wisdom, from tenderness, from the long arc of a life lived fully—with all its bruises and all its blessings.
He did not speak the wish aloud. Some wishes are too sacred for sound.
When he opened his eyes, the star seemed even brighter, and something inside him shifted. Not dramatically, not with fanfare… but surely. The kind of shift that gently alters the course of a life.
He trudged on through the snowy woods, no longer seeking clarity but carrying it. The night felt warmer, the path steadier. He walked forward changed—quietly, profoundly—by the star he thought he had lost, and by the child he realized he had never truly left behind.
* * * * * * * * * *
Although no brilliant star greets this December morning—still dark outside the windows—I find myself gazing at the soft lights of the Christmas tree. Their gentle glow ushers me from the reverie of the story into the warm quiet of the wee cottage.
One of my Christmas coffee mugs sits beside me, full to the brim with deliciousness. The aroma rises like a blessing. Hauser’s cello brings Morricone’s Once Upon a Time in the West to life, each note a ribbon of beauty drifting through the morning stillness. Frost has etched its own artistry upon the windowpanes—silver, delicate, fleeting.
It is a peaceful moment of bliss, and into this space come these words:
“Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”
I pause with them. Turn them over. Let them settle.
These words remind me of the quiet power of positivity—how an uplifted mind can steady us through rough waters, how choosing hope helps us see the world not as bleak or burdened but as layered with possibility.
Change your thinking, change your life. Such a simple idea. Such a profound truth.
I take a sip of coffee and glance out the window. It is now light enough to see a man walking his golden retriever, the dog’s tail a happy metronome against the white snow. Life goes on—softly, steadily, beautifully.
And so, I walk into this day… carrying the star’s reminder, the child’s wonder, and the belief that hope is never lost—it simply waits for us to look up.
"At any moment, the universe can hand you back the star you wished upon as a child." ~Unknown
~Wylddane
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