A New Year, Wooden Spoons, and Dreaming of What Might Be | Red Rover Hanging Art Mobile by Mark Leary Designs
On a new year
“But does anything other than the number change?” asked mouse.
That, my dear,” replied fox, “is entirely up to you.”
Thoughts while making
8:51 p.m.
Does
this sound familiar: You’re a kid. It’s New Year’s Eve. Pots and pans
have been laid out on the kitchen table. Big wooden spoons, too.
8:56 pm.
One by one, you and your siblings step up and arm yourself: one pot or one pan, one spoon. There were five of us.
8:58 p.m.
Nervous giggles. Pajamas rustling.
8:59 p.m.
You
all file quietly out the door, five pairs of little feet noiseless
along the walkway. Turning the corner, down the driveway, right to the
edge of the sidewalk.
9 p.m.
The sign is given, and all at once, the banging begins. Hooting and hollering. Metal and wood.
Primal screams of children lifting like wild things calling into winter’s starlit night.
A year’s hurts and pains, bads and awfuls given notice that their time is done and sent on their way.
9:01 p.m.
10 little feet quickly scrambling from whence they came. Neighborhood dogs barking.
9:05 p.m.
Martinelli’s apple cider to toast the new year in New York from Scripps Ranch in San Diego.
By 9:30 p.m.
Fast asleep to forget what was and dream of what might be.
Wishing
you a year touched by love and light, where the hurts-and-pains,
bads-and-awfuls are shooed away into the cold night of yesterday, making
space for dreams made real, fireflies and campfire sparks.