New Year's Reverie

In the darkness the planets spin, the stellar night sky burns. We look up to dream, we look up and take our cues from bright sparks immeasurably far away, immutably arrayed, a seeming solitary constant in a universe of flux — and seeming is enough — to guide our steps, to return our gaze night after night, time and again, reliably returning patterns, string games, weird beasts boasting their archaic names, goddesses, hunters, sisters, brothers, the wake of the moon, the eye of the swan, the dawn that wakes too soon. We think.

In this outpost here among the pines, in the highlands, you have a home. You, who see the stories writ in light burn through the night, who long to hear the songs that bear uncracking from the silent stones; You who do the scratching, the head-rattling, the rat-tat-tatting of the lace — this is your place. This is why we are here, and why you come, time and again to tug with us at the undying strains, the underlying seams of ore, pockets full of gold — or iron pyrite — serves you right, for gazing up into the night, like that, you vagabonds, you scallawags, you saltimbanques, you seers.

Thank you for your fascinations.

For your generosity, your camaraderie, your tears of laughter, your perennial heartache shared round — a round for you. We lift our glasses to the starry sky.

Happy New Year