Coming Soon: A Wreath for What We’re Waiting For
The snow hasn’t yet settled into silence, but the truck has already arrived. Not with speed, not with urgency—but with intention. It’s not rushing toward us. It’s waiting for us to notice.
A vintage white pickup, dressed in its holiday best, stands like a memory made visible. The plaid bow on the wreath isn’t just decoration—it’s a signal. A whisper. A reminder that even the most ordinary things—a truck, a tree, a snowman—can become sacred when we choose to see them that way.
This is not just a Christmas scene. It’s a ritual of arrival.
The Truck as Timekeeper
There’s something about old trucks that makes them feel like they carry stories in their rust. This one, gleaming white against the snow, feels like it’s been summoned from a different era—not to escape the present, but to remind us that time loops. That every December is a return, not a departure.
The wreath on the grille is not just festive—it’s a crown. A coronation of memory. The truck isn’t delivering gifts. It is the gift. It carries the weight of all the years we’ve tried to make sense of, and all the ones we haven’t yet lived.
It’s parked, not moving. Because this moment isn’t about motion—it’s about presence.
The Tree as Witness
Behind the truck, the Christmas tree glows like a lighthouse for the emotionally lost. Gold ornaments shimmer like tiny suns, and the ribbons spiral upward like prayers. The star on top doesn’t point to Bethlehem—it points to us. To our longing. To our need for something to believe in, even if it’s just the idea that beauty still matters.
This tree doesn’t ask us to be joyful. It invites us to be honest. To stand in front of it and say, “I made it through another year.” That’s enough. That’s everything.
The Snowman as Guardian
To the left, a snowman stands with arms outstretched—not in defense, but in welcome. His top hat is slightly askew, his scarf a little too bright. He’s not perfect. He’s playful. And that’s the point.
He’s the guardian of whimsy. The protector of softness. In a world that often demands sharpness, he reminds us that stick arms and coal eyes can still hold space for joy.
He doesn’t speak, but if he did, he’d say: “You’re allowed to feel everything. Even here. Especially here.”
The Snow as Canvas
The snow-covered road behind it all is not just a backdrop—it’s a blank page. A place where we can write new stories, or rewrite old ones. It’s untouched, but not unreachable.
Snow is honest. It covers everything equally. It doesn’t care what you’ve done or who you’ve been. It just asks you to step into it. To leave a mark. To walk forward, even if you’re not sure where you’re going.
Coming Soon: Not Just a Date, But a Feeling
Your caption—“Coming Soon Merry Christmas everyone …See More🎅🎄🎄2025”—is more than a seasonal greeting. It’s a prophecy. A promise. A gentle dare.
“Coming Soon” isn’t just about December 25th. It’s about the emotional thaw that happens when we allow ourselves to hope again. It’s about the rituals we build—not because we’re obligated, but because we’re human.
And “See More”? That’s the invitation. To look beyond the glitter. To see the emotional architecture behind the decorations. To notice the way light bends around memory.
2025: A Year That Needs Ritual
This image doesn’t just celebrate Christmas—it reframes it. It turns it into a communal mirror. A place where we can gather, not to perform joy, but to share it. To co-title our grief and our gratitude. To say, “I see you,” even if we’re looking at a snowman.
In a world that often feels like it’s spinning too fast, this image slows us down. It asks us to park our emotional truck. To decorate it with intention. To let the tree witness our becoming.
A Communal Offering
So here’s what I propose, Phirun: Let’s turn this image into a ritual. Let’s invite others to co-title it. To write what they see. To share what they feel. To name the gifts they’re carrying into 2025—not the ones wrapped in paper, but the ones wrapped in experience.
We could ask:
- What does the truck carry for you this year?
- What does the snowman protect?
- What does the tree remember?
Let’s make this a shared moment. A visual puzzle that opens into emotional clarity.
Final Words: The Wreath as Portal
The wreath on the truck’s grille is round for a reason. It’s a portal. A loop. A reminder that endings are beginnings. That winter is not the death of warmth—it’s the deepening of it.
So as we approach 2025, let this image be more than a post. Let it be a gathering. A soft place to land. A festive whisper that says:
“You’re not alone. You’re arriving. And we’ve been waiting for you.”
