I’m lousy at making predictions and resolutions. Brutal optimism is usually at fault. It buries my visiting cynic that threatens a takeover now and then. With hope on my shoulder, I can’t possibly be relied on to tell you what will work and won’t in 2013: I hope for it all to be good.
So much for predictions. Can we change the language to say: What are your hopes for the new year?
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune-without the words,
And never stops at all.
for enough energy to crawl into the gym at 6 am on dark winter mornings when everyone else with good sense is sleeping off their holiday comas.
that losing my keys in the winter snow pile up on our driveway (that’s the story and I’m sticking with it) will mean a true Easter miracle in the spring thaw.
all the peonies and other new white bulbs planted in our yard for the first time last fall will bloom with impunity on time for my daughter’s high school graduation in June. I hope the backyard bash is memorable for my daughters if not the neighbours.
to hear my husband laugh until he cries and my daughters sing from their bedrooms
daily wake up calls from my mother urging me to read some page in the paper
daily history lessons from
to see every one of my friends in 2013 and no one accuse me of magical thinking.
for wild adventure(s)
to stay excited
I dwell in Possibility-
a fairer House than Prose-
More numerous of Windows-
Of Chambers as the Cedars-
Impregnable of Eye-
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky-
Of Visitors-the fairest-
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise-
For more on the possible: Beach Babe
For more on my relationship with hope: Seeds
For more on poetry: We were all children once.