a reflection/poem by Joyce Rupp
The Old Year Runs Away from Me
the old year runs away from me.
I hang on to her sleeve
but she shakes my loose.
where does the old year go
when the new year comes?
she slips away into memories,
falls into the crevices of wishes
she waits no longer upon promises,
turns her back on the might-have-been.
the elves of the old year step in,
pack up the struggles, store the joys,
tuck them away in the bulging box
spreading out on the psyche’s floor.
it’s up to the new year now.
I bring a lot to her domain:
expectations, dreams, hopes,
and I place them all before
her strong, abundant door.
I walk into her untamed territory,
with a meek apprehension
and a vast sense of mystery,
assured by the welcome I receive,
anxious about what is waiting
behind the drawn window shade,
curious about what I will discover
in the hidden folds of her new days.
Taken from Out of the Ordinary ©2000 by Joyce Rupp. Used by permission of Ave Maria Press. All rights reserved.
All photos from several of our annual trips to Niagara Wine Country, where the winemakers can always be counted on to make the best of any year, come what may.