Sunday, 28 December 2014

the brilliant moon is rising

As 2014 draws to a close I look beyond the horizon and see 2015 waiting on the shoulder of tomorrow, its imminent arrival promising new beginnings and new life. I'll be meeting my grandson in a matter of days, or hours; moments that are hurdling the precipice of soon. He's doing well, thriving healthily in his mother's womb, causing my heart to race when he kicked up a fuss with contractions during boxing day Christmas dinner. He thought better of it and continues to pay homage to his mummy, his life sheltered, his heart content, his wee cheeks filling out with each passing day. He's a wee brother for Tommy, a child missed and always loved, and poignantly, he's a cousin for the next in line, my daughter's news creating a stir at the dinner table in a scan picture that shapes all of our futures, a joyful journey that will take us all far and wide, the globe spinning on our sweet talk and excitement.

As I look out the window the brilliant moon is rising, its liquid silver foraging, its waves guarding over the fading light in the sky, its pink and yellow glow resting on chimney tops, hugging what's left of another day. In the street, beyond closing curtains, table lamps are flickering, creating shadows that chase the sun, pushing into an evening where Christmas continues to glisten, colourful strobes contrasting with the crisp frost that has coveted pavements and windscreens and made them its own. We go about our business, inside our cocoons, the chill shivering on the outside as the seconds chase minutes and the hours holler after sun slipping from the paths that we carefully tread.

A flight is lost, a ferry is on fire, families are crumbling at the loss of their loved ones in Glasgow's George Square, and in the midst of all this pain and incomprehensible tragedy we remind ourselves that each and every one of us is fragile, embracing what we have, paying homage to the little bits of happiness we can source in the stars that hover like birds against the highest mountain.  We remind ourselves to remember to fly. To soar and climb and push beyond the clouds and the shadows and cradle the dark even when it isn't ours.

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