Poem at the Close of the Year
Take a walk with me down to the stream. It’s a cold, clear day. Frost underfoot. Tonight there will be stars: approaching home, we’ll crane our necks to count them, while billions of years whoosh past and next-door’s cat creeps over the shed. For now, it’s the stream we’re seeing through: billions of drops absolved of their differences, woven into one, a rippling pathway between two fields. Kneel down with me, and take these cares we’ve nurtured all the year in hand: our meek and jumbled offerings, our unsaid sorries, our pains. Let the cold, clear water stun you into wonder as it carries them away. There is time to do this at the closing of the year on a cold, clear day.