The Last of the Year (A Poem)

The last of the year,
the shortest of days,
a high bright moon
in a new winter haze –
December descends,
the darkest of months,
in stoic shades
of white and gray.
But there’s beauty
in the spartan landscape
and comfort in the cold air:
a peaceful silence,
a slant of light,
a joy in rest
and in the hope of
fresh fallen snow,
a gift in the season of giving
and a spirit in knowing
the season is fleeting.
All things must
come to an end,
and in ending can
begin again.

30 thoughts on “The Last of the Year (A Poem)

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