As yet another year draws to a close
I ponder my relationship to time.
It seems to stretch and pull, unequal parts
That play me for a fool who wants too much
From something neither linear nor fair.
I found my heart inside a furry beast
Whose floofy butt and shark-sharp little teeth
Have charmed their way into my soul, and now
She is the sun my universe of days
Revolves around her little corgi whims.
I wrote some books and read quite a few more.
More books than I’d yet read in just a year.
Now equal parts inspired and filled with fear
At what and where my unique place could be
within this fickle game we play with words.
I got to tell the world about my books;
See my name writ in Ps of M and W.
But not all stones I tread were paved in gold.
I lost my publisher but not myself;
Kept my desire to keep on dreaming worlds.
This time last year I made a wish each night
And burned them one by one, a supplicant
To universal fates who might conspire
In my good fortune for the year ahead.
Now, can’t recall a single ashy hope.
And winter now does beckon me again,
And unlike some, I love these long dark nights—
Less pressure to be up and go and do,
More time to percolate and sip my tea
And cherish cozy hermit hours and days.
So thank you, year of pivots and of grief,
Of losing soulmate cats and finding friends,
Of tarot cards and candles and more tea
Than any single person should consume.
A perfectly imperfect messy mess.
This newsletter has really lost the plot,
So now I’ll finish with two orphan lines
That somehow didn’t find their home above:
I let myself be startled by my work.
I’ve made it to and through the darkest night.
Happy new year. Trust your magic.
Clare
I love this so much!
I let myself be startled by my work.
I’ve made it to and through the darkest night.
Yes, yes, yes.
I love you