Thanksgiving fades to Christmas,
turkeys and pilgrims giving way for evergreens and Jesus.
My boots make temporary marks in the white
revealing fallen leaves under a dusting of snow.
It is the end.
This year ends.
It was in March when I’m sure the lions heard me roar
as her light was snuffed out of this world.
And now here we are and again I watch as another fire,
a candle which burned bright next to my darkness,
We are impermanent.
I am looking for those beginnings that come at the ends.
Watching and waiting for the door to swing, swing open.
Originally published on my other blog under Jessica Sita. Subject to revisions.