Backward and forward gazes the Janus Head. Looking at both sides now. Giving birth to the month, January.
Remembrance of Things Past. Through a Glass Darkly. Goodbye / Hello. I don’t know why you say goodbye; I say hello. G’day, What’s up? Good morning
sun. The start of something big.
It’s a Wonderful World when you take Ovid out of Covid, the pox out of MAGA's vox populi. Looking for the Yes in yesterday, easier than locating the fun in dysfunction or the word in sword but here’s my calendar with all those empty squares, life-to-be, filled with cups of kindness yet for Miracles on 34th Street and Auld Lang Syne:
And there’s a hand, my trusty fere / and gie’s a hand o’ thine!........ And we’ll take a right gude-willie waught / For auld lang syne.
It makes good sense when you bend an elbow and down a few
pints with mates.
Have I arrived where I began, knowing the place for the first
time? There’s no arrival, I am just on my way but noticing the overlooked and listening
past rhetorical chatter. The magnificent canvas outside my window astonishes my
senses. Loving friends seed creativity. It is all a gift and for that I am grateful and feel a rush of reverence,
an intimacy with the unknown.
I’ll be a year older this year than I was yesterday, so says
the calendar of my bones. Even in this digital age, as the big clock spins, there is a child alive in my marrow. While tempus may fugit, another measure of time can stop on command, responsive only to our
exuberance for life and alignment with the pulse of music in the spheres.
As Robert Bly put it in bis poem, Wanting To Steal Time………….
Every noon as the clock hands arrive at twelve, / I want
to tie the two arms together, / And walk out of the bank carrying time in bags.
