Bhí sé geal, fuar sa gheimhreadh.

It was bright and cold in the winter.

Bhí na crainn draíochta ag soilsiú le daite solas Nollag.

The magical trees were glowing with colored Christmas lights.

Bhí Roinn Síciteiripe na scoile lán d'atmaisféar séimh, le fuinneoga móra ag ligean solas liath fuar na gealaí tríd.

The school's Department of Psychotherapy was filled with a tranquil atmosphere, with large windows allowing the cold gray moonlight to stream through.

Tháinig Eamon isteach go luath gach maidin.

Eamon came in early every morning.

Ba é a post é aire a thabhairt do pháistí a bhí ag streachailt.

It was his job to care for children who were struggling.

Bhí an Oíche Nollag ag druidim linn, ach ní raibh áthas ar gach duine.

Christmas Eve was approaching, but not everyone was joyful.

D’fhéach Eamon timpeall an tseomra chompordaigh, a eagla clúdaithe.

Eamon looked around the comfortable room, his fear cloaked.

Bhí suas ar chúinne crann beag Nollag, ornáidí gleoite ar crochadh air.

In the corner stood a small Christmas tree, with lovely ornaments hanging on it.

Siobhán, cailín ciúin ó rang sa dara bliain, d'fhreastail anseo freisin.

Siobhán, a quiet girl from second year class, attended here as well.

Bhí sí ag teacht isteach go rialta, ach go minic ní labhraíodh sí.

She came in regularly, but often she didn't speak.

Bhí eagla uirthi go raibh sí ag cur díomá ar a muintir.

She was afraid she was disappointing her family.

Bhí brú uirthi an iomarca bheith foirfe ar scoil.

She felt too much pressure to be perfect at school.

Bhí Cillian, an síciatraí mór le rá, ag breathnú uirthi go líonmhar.

Cillian, the renowned psychiatrist, watched her intently.

Mar sin féin, bhí a chuid comhairle traidisiúnta ag titim in éadan croí Siobhán.

However, his traditional advice was falling flat on Siobhán's heart.

Níor oscail sí suas.

She wouldn't open up.

Bhí imní, cosúil le sneachta seachtrach, ag carnadh ina hintinn bheag.

Anxiety, like the external snow, was piling up in her small mind.

Sa deireadh, shocraigh Eamon ar chur chuige nua a thriail.

In the end, Eamon decided to try a new approach.

Bhí a fhios aige go gcaithfeadh sé bealach difriúil a fháil chun Siobhán a thabhairt chuig áit a raibh sí in ann labhairt.

He knew he had to find a different way to bring Siobhán to a place where she could talk.

Ba é an ceol agus an ealaín a rogha.

Music and art were his choice.

Thosaigh sé ag tabhairt pinn luaidhe agus dathanna isteach sa tseisiún.

He began bringing in colored pencils and crayons into the session.

Bhí Saol níos fearr ag Siobhán ag éisteacht le ceol suaimhneach.

Siobhán's life improved by listening to calm music.

Go mall, thosaigh sí ag gluaiseacht leis an gcluasáin ar a cluas.

Slowly, she started to move with the headphones on her ears.

D'imir an ceol rithim ar a hintinn.

The music played a rhythm on her mind.

Thosaigh a lámh ag gluaiseacht go mall agus ag tarraingt pictiúir.

Her hand began to move slowly, drawing pictures.

Ar dtús, ballóga, ansin píosaí scamaill.

First, doodles, then pieces of clouds.

Lá amháin, le linn seisiún, thosaigh Siobhán ag tarraingt rud aisteach.

One day, during a session, Siobhán started drawing something strange.

Maidir le Eamon, bhí anyacónla saoir go han-láidir.

For Eamon, the metaphor was quite strong.

Bhí sí ag tarraingt phictiúr den dalta beag ag siúl in aice le teorainn de sneachta bán.

She was drawing a picture of a small pupil walking near a border of white snow.

D'fhan sí ansin go tamall.

She stayed there for a while.

D'fhiafraigh Eamon go mall, "Cad atá ann, Siobhán?

Eamon asked slowly, "What is it, Siobhán?"

"Tháinig na focail i mall, sa chéad uair.

The words came slowly, for the first time.

"Is mé an dalta beag," ar sí.

"I am the small pupil," she said.

"Ní féidir liom mo bhealach a fháil.

"I can't find my way."

"Bhí sin mar an nóiméad sárthaispeántas.

That was the breakthrough moment.

Tháinig súil Siobhán isteach lena súil féin.

Siobhán came into her own vision.

Ní raibh an doras mór a thuilleadh.

The door was no longer big.

Thosaigh sí ag labhairt go hoscailte faoi a himníthe.

She started to speak openly about her worries.

Bhí na focail ag teacht amach cosúil le sruth sileann.

The words flowed out like a gentle stream.

Mealltar croí Eamon le bród.

Eamon's heart was filled with pride.

Bhí sé ag tabhairt faoi deara go raibh a mhodh difriúil ag cabhrú.

He noticed that his different method was helping.

D’éirigh gliondar ar Siobhán, ag tosú ag brath ar a cumais féin.

Siobhán became more radiant, starting to rely on her own abilities.

Bhí sé soiléir freisin do Chillian go raibh ar bhealachanna difriúla a bheith oscailte.

It was also clear to Cillian that different paths had to be considered.

Ní gá i gcónaí don réiteach a bheith traidisiúnta.

The solution doesn't always have to be traditional.

Agus gach duine ag fás, d’fhoghlaim Eamon rud nua faoina instincts féin.

With everyone growing, Eamon learned something new about his own instincts.

Bhí Siobhán ag mothú níos láidre, agus Cillian ag glacadh le smaointe níos spraíúla.

Siobhán was feeling stronger, and Cillian was accepting more creative ideas.

Bhí scéalta na ndaoine seo thar a bheith sásúil, phléascadh mar síoda ó fuinneog sa gheimhreadh froilig.

The stories of these people were incredibly fulfilling, blossoming like silk from a frosty winter window.

Sa deireadh, bhí mothúchán na tallainne ag meáchan ar an stór seo á nach mbeidh dearmad riamh.

In the end, the emotion of talent weighed on this story that would never be forgotten.