The earth turns
the sun arcs west across the sky,
and the moon dances bravely in the dark
among the black branches of an oak.
The clouds blow wither they want,
or so it seems, until the wind
kisses your face cold
and you remember we are often moved
by powers we cannot see.
We have swung a circle wide enough
around our fated star once more.
We stand at the not-yet-soon-to-be crack in time.
The old year is almost out,
the new year waits to be slowly born,
and we are poised to fill
the next blank pages of our lives.
Happy New Year!