On a new year
“But does anything other than the number change?” asked mouse.
That, my dear,” replied fox, “is entirely up to you.”
Thoughts while making
Does this sound familiar: You’re a kid. It’s New Year’s Eve. Pots and pans have been laid out on the kitchen table. Big wooden spoons, too.
One by one, you and your siblings step up and arm yourself: one pot or one pan, one spoon. There were five of us.
Nervous giggles. Pajamas rustling.
You all file quietly out the door, five pairs of little feet noiseless along the walkway. Turning the corner, down the driveway, right to the edge of the sidewalk.
The sign is given, and all at once, the banging begins. Hooting and hollering. Metal and wood.
Primal screams of children lifting like wild things calling into winter’s starlit night.
A year’s hurts and pains, bads and awfuls given notice that their time is done and sent on their way.
10 little feet quickly scrambling from whence they came. Neighborhood dogs barking.
Martinelli’s apple cider to toast the new year in New York from Scripps Ranch in San Diego.
By 9:30 p.m.
Fast asleep to forget what was and dream of what might be.
Wishing you a year touched by love and light, where the hurts-and-pains, bads-and-awfuls are shooed away into the cold night of yesterday, making space for dreams made real, fireflies and campfire sparks.