On the Year's End:Considering the Sun in Absence

On the Year's End: Considering the Sun in Absence

The sun has risen and fallen again, and elsewhere
must be rising on this last day of the year,
auspicious with eights and endings which
must be beginnings as the narrative will write
itself with or without adjustments and sidetracks
and lies. The year begins in hope, as it must, and the old
battered: a few photographs in frames, a number of lines
in neat order, piles of papers to file, stacks to purge and re-purge.
Sons taller, homes emptied, tidied and filled again. This
is how the story goes with false starts, with remarkable moments
once sworn to remembrance: but was it a sunrise or sunset?
Or, the way the half moon caught in the net of limbs, the prairie
covered in morning haze, smoke? Or, the owl posturing
as death reborn? There was a hill climbed, and the smell of paint
on a March afternoon, and many spiders removed stiff-legged
from webs, the stove’s redhead glowering and water rushing
into sinks and pans and saucers. Then whiskers,
on a son’s cheek, as he bends now to bid goodnight. And thus,
the sun rises and falls and the year begins anew.

Peace to You

A little earlier than usual, I'm ready for the season. As a family we've planned a Medieval Feast with fairly authentic food, decorations, a newly designed family crest to celebrate Christmas Eve. Parsley bread is rising, the kitchen is chockful of lamb for stew, fish for roasting, and leeks, mushrooms and other vegetables to dice, saute and steam. There is a fireplace in our rented home, but it's not in working order, so we'll un-authentically bake with our oven and stir pots on our conventional stove. The pater noster is memorized, our characters thought out, the table to be laid with silver salvers and goblets. We have music to listen to, skits to perform, we'll make music, too with flute and recorder. And celebrate the birth of our Lord, in whom we delight.

May you be as blessed, this and every day.