Quick Burst Skyward

At the last minute, I decided to stay in. Over a decade ago, Jocelyn had taught me how to recount the old and count down to the new, her soft fingers in mine by the bank of candles and her voice a whisper below her sparrow eyes. My intention was to partake in ceremony, something large and deep and certain. My plan was to bid farewell to the worst and most eventful year of my life, and welcome in something that I hoped would be full of birth and purpose.

But as the moment neared, like some chaotic version of the Whos in Whoville, Seattle began to explode and cheer. From absolute peace and quiet, a silence made partially of newly fallen snow, came a rising tide of revelry.

I've never heard or seen anything quite like it. Home fireworks burst from several directions, set against the colored-sky-puffs and the whistling spiders launched from the head of the Needle. Ecstatic shouting spread from Lake Union to Greenlake, primal whoops and shrill laughter, the pops of corks and the plastic quacks of party favors. Radios blared and hands were brought together. And then from the water, like a flock of approaching geese, came the boat horns, low and powerful, wildebeast and waterfowl. They picked up automotive counterparts as they passed, until everything was light, sound, and happy energy. I sat on my porch chair with my feet propped up on the railing, and I thought this is all the ceremony anyone needs for anything.

It's an hour later and all is quiet, almost as if nothing had happened. I have Kava brewing in the kitchen and the cats are asleep again. What a start to 2004 this is for me, and I hope that all of you had a similar new beginning. May the New Year give you magick, love, and adventure. Happy New Year, all.