going wordless into the year
I have not chosen a word to guide me through the year ahead. I have not made resolutions. I want to go quietly, simply, letting the year, day, moments, give me their own names if they wish. This moment now is old gold. The sun lies heavy and tired on my neighbour's roof. It flutters in the wind-shivered leaves of my lovely old poplar tree, the last of the poplars around here, the one we look for every morning incase it too is taken away. This moment, it is solemn, sacred, and loving. I would not be able to think of any word that might preside over both it and the next moment, the aftergold moment, here now. All that luscious light disappeared in the blink of an eye. The roof is dulled. The leaves are more bronze than gold. The sun slips so fast away; I imagine the hills gathering it in. The dear old, dark hills - I can almost hear their voices of stone and hidden waters, singing bonds of sleep, of peace, around the bright and weary king. I sense his contentment in the warm, brown embrace of the earth. And I know I can indeed resolve nothing, for what I want is the opposite, to dissolve - my dreams, my awareness, shedding from me, entering hill pores, and sun murmurs, mingling with the beloved world.