Standing on the cusp of the new year,
looking forward,
the year stretching ahead full of promise,
the possibility of dreams longed for coming true.
The year yet unblemished,
new-day light illuminating white-grey sky,
sun low and awakening.
Behind me lies regret and disappointment.
My hands unclench and scatter
ashes of burnt dreams
and charred days onto frosty ground.
I don’t look back;
what’s done is done.
My eyes look forward
Trying to glimpse signs of new life.
The siskin flies past me
her stay temporary from the northern land,
while the bullfinches dance,
crimson breasts against snowy sky.
The new year folds her arms,
keeping her secrets close and hidden.
I notice green leaves of the snowdrop
already emerging beneath my feet.
