A New Year
A new year.
A sprinkling of snow falls from the sky with the delicacy of a flakey pastry, crumbling onto the lap of an all black outfit.
A new year.
The pages of a book flip with vigor, absorbing a string of words previously unknown.
A new year.
A fire crackles and bursts with precision, with certainty, illuminating sparks screaming: I Am Here. Know Me.
A new year.
The wine rack remains untouched, not yet collecting dust but drawing a chill. A perspicuous eye looks away.
A new year.
The world is the same, but the person is changed. Is grown. Is mindful. Is aged. The person knows. The person sees. The chance for a new way.
