Dream weaver

by Bonnie Pockley

For me, New Year’s Eve is filled with magic. Not in a drunken, bright light, big city, debaucherous kind of way but within the soft gleam of possibility where imagination and a fresh start fuel aspiration. It’s not that I’m unaware that I have been here before. It’s not that I don’t know that New Year is merely symbolic and that little actually separates one year from the next save a few hours, minutes even. But, you see, I’m a believer. This, for me, is my dream weaving. This is the quiet moment of execution – where old ties are cut loose and I begin again, open and renewed.

Happy New Year.