The wheel hums beneath gloved hands, Where silence gathers in heavy folds. Through a window streaked with cold, The road ahead blurs and bends. A face beneath the red velvet trim, Locked in ice, or maybe thought, No destination spoken— The miles carry on, as if they forgot. Steel breaths and hollow winds, A traveler unbroken, unmade. Even shadows wear a Santa’s crown, In the land where time has stayed.