New Year’s Eve

The closing moments of 2001. it’s been still and quiet much of the evening. And it is now. Blessedly quiet, as if the fireworks have been spent and the last of them have flickered, popped, and faded in the distance. At least for now. I wonder what it will sound like at midnight, however.

Earlier, as I left work, everyone was wishing each other “Happy New Year.” It’s a nice feeling to say the words, when you think about it. Year after year, it’s always the same. Familiar, reassuring. One co-worker said he hoped it was the best New Year ever. I said, “What else could it be? We gotta believe it.”

Then I stepped out into the cool night air. The moon was still full. I pulled my coat up under my chin, walking briskly.

At the house in Charleston, I took my usual place on the porch in the rocker. I was bundled up good. There was a distinct smell of woodsmoke in the air. Sweet fragrance and gift of memory from winters past. The cat was coming in and out of the house, looking up at the spotlight beam arcing across the cloudy, but moon-illuminated sky.

It is the dormant season, but the beginning of a new year. The middle of winter, and yet the start of something new.

It’s midnight, according to my clocks now. Quiet still. I am amazed. It is as if the raucus merrimakers have retired into the year just past and stand in silent awe at the gateway to the year 2002. New possibilities, new beginnings. New hope.

My neighborhood awakens. The fireworks are going off. There are yells and shouts in the distance, echoing across this little patch of suburbia.

The world is not the same place it was minutes before.

Happy New Year!