What to Do at the End?

(At the end of every year, I reread my journal to capture moments, highlights, learning points, dreams, and books that made a difference. This poem is about that practice.)

 

You’d forget most of the days beneath the fallen year

If you hadn’t hidden its massive trunk

For your private excursions later

(Into the forest where it lies infinitely solemn and still)

To climb up onto it, once again, at its roots

To stand steady and reverently upon its weathered bark

To walk curiously down

Through its tangled branches

And step deep into its blanketed leaves

 

All those brilliant, magnificent leaves!

Leaves that would be compost

Darkened and buried so soon after they fell

Unless

You carefully preserved them

For this moment

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