Sitting on the cusp of an old year, and the brink of a new decade, the night grew colder and the fireworks seemed louder as the hours wore down. As I settled in for the final time before bed (no staying up to midnight for me, though the fireworks woke me), I reached for my new biography of Dorothy L. Sayers to read (I am enjoying it so much) and a blanket, for the evening was getting colder by the minute.
A few words scribbled into my journal came to mind as well, with a farewell to 2019, and some poetic words branching outward from an origin resting in awe of the natural elements of the winter months. It always comes unexpectedly, but when the words come in the poetic form, they simply must be written down immediately:
Winter Musings for the New Year
I am watching the glass morph into
an iced lake, growing frosty cold,
as the dampness lingers, it clings to glass,
transforming my view to a different landscape.
Not of branches, leaves, and a rooftop glimpse,
but of swirls, shapes, smokey glazes, softly
shimmering by moonlight: condensation magic.
Everything is cosier from this side of glass,
snug and wrapped in a basket weave grey
blanket and a stack of books. My company
is this rowdy collection of books, each one calling to me -
open my cover and you will see,
you will read, you will think, you will imagine.
Get yourself out of the way, and receive.
Happy 2020 to you!
No comments:
Post a Comment