And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
2020 is ending in a shroud
of white, a cold layer settling
the year to rest. I await
the pre-dawn hour, after
the Watch Night, after
the reconciling of thoughts
from all that has past
this persistent year, I look out,
step out into the night air—
crisp, fresh, new—and I have hope
for what will bloom once this night’s
snow fades, fades, fades
into a good and joy-filled memory.
—C.L. Fisher, Almost January 2021
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