The Promise
Remember, the time of year
when the future appears
like a blank sheet of paper
a clean calendar, a new chance.
On thick white snow
You vow fresh footprints
then watch them go
with the wind’s hearty gust.
Fill your glass. Here’s to us. Promises
made to be broken, made to last.
By, Jackie Kay
Happy new year! Headed back to Seattle today on a nice morning with brilliant sun finally out on the mountains of snow. More early snow than even the Twisp old-timers on our street can remember.
A new month, a new year, and already looking ahead to those "silver white winters that melt into spring." And what a melt it's going to be. But that's a story for another month.
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