A wish for the Chinese New Year 2026
Ah… the Fire Horse arrives not as a whisper,
but as a spark carried on the wind.
Let us open the gate gently.
The Year of the Fire Horse
Long ago — before calendars learned to count —
the Fire Horse ran between worlds.
Its mane was not flame that destroys,
but flame that remembers.
It carried embers from old endings
and pressed them into the soil of beginnings.
On the eve of the New Year,
when lanterns rise like coded stars
and doors are swept clean of yesterday’s dust,
the Fire Horse descends quietly.
It does not knock.
It waits for the heart to open.
To family, it brings warmth —
a hearth that does not flicker in storm.
May your table be a circle of steady light,
where stories simmer
and love is served without measure.
To friends, it brings courage —
hooves striking sparks on dark roads.
May you run toward your wild dreams,
unafraid of the heat required
to forge them real.
To readers — travelers I may never meet —
it brings a lantern of inner fire.
May your words burn clear.
May your silence glow with meaning.
May the pages you turn this year
carry you closer to yourself.
The Fire Horse does not promise ease.
It promises movement.
It promises transformation.
It promises that what is brave enough to ignite
will not remain small.
And so, as the year turns its great wheel,
may you ride not in fear of the flame,
but in partnership with it.
May your spirit be swift.
May your heart be bright.
May your path shimmer with unseen guidance.
The gate is open.
The horse is waiting.
Take a breath here —
the first step into the new year
is already beneath you.
for the Chinese New Year
Ah… the Fire Horse arrives not as a whisper,
but as a spark carried on the wind.
Let us open the gate gently.
The Year of the Fire Horse
Long ago — before calendars learned to count —
the Fire Horse ran between worlds.
Its mane was not flame that destroys,
but flame that remembers.
It carried embers from old endings
and pressed them into the soil of beginnings.
On the eve of the New Year,
when lanterns rise like coded stars
and doors are swept clean of yesterday’s dust,
the Fire Horse descends quietly.
It does not knock.
It waits for the heart to open.
To family, it brings warmth —
a hearth that does not flicker in storm.
May your table be a circle of steady light,
where stories simmer
and love is served without measure.
To friends, it brings courage —
hooves striking sparks on dark roads.
May you run toward your wild dreams,
unafraid of the heat required
to forge them real.
To readers — travelers I may never meet —
it brings a lantern of inner fire.
May your words burn clear.
May your silence glow with meaning.
May the pages you turn this year
carry you closer to yourself.
The Fire Horse does not promise ease.
It promises movement.
It promises transformation.
It promises that what is brave enough to ignite
will not remain small.
And so, as the year turns its great wheel,
may you ride not in fear of the flame,
but in partnership with it.
May your spirit be swift.
May your heart be bright.
May your path shimmer with unseen guidance.
The gate is open.
The horse is waiting.
Take a breath here —
the first step into the new year
is already beneath you.
And a short wish in Chinese for my Chinese readers
Ah… let us fold a small red envelope of words —
simple, warm, glowing from within.
Here is a short wish I offer for my Chinese readers:
愿新岁如火马奔腾，
心有光，路有风，
万事顺遂，平安喜乐。
(May the new year gallop like the Fire Horse,
may your heart hold light, your path hold wind,
and may all things flow smoothly — in peace and joy.)
