Year Ending

I have read a book of poetry, through this Christmas time, called, "A Mind of Winter: Poems for a Snowy Season". Some beautiful stuff, there.

Things here, however, are not that snowy at the moment. Earlier today the air almost felt Springlike. Now, in the afternoon of the last day of the year, the air is murky gray, like water under clouds. All traces of earlier snows have melted. I can hear birds -- though the outside looks wet and flat, like ten a.m.

That hourly accelleration kicked in again, right around Thanksgiving. Time swirled by, faster and faster. Pumpkin pie in November, then a jump-cut to Christmas and fast forward to New Year's Eve.

Last Summer seems an eternity away. A myth of heat and greening.

2003 is pressing against the present through a barrier as fine as silk now. Each tick of the clock thins that division more. All these hours, here, in this journal, flutter around like birds ready to migrate. They seem detached now, adrift from their source year. The Book of Hours will soon have a new chapter.

At this moment I am typing (as I am prone to do) and drinking warm coffee. Soon I'll be getting ready to spend the night with friends. I'm looking forward to Champagne at midnight and a fresh span of time to explore and enjoy.

I wish safety and good health, happiness and prosperity, inspiration and (never last) love to you -- in all the moments of the coming year.

Happy New Year.