2000 + 9



every journey
is yet anouther
spiral, in the spin

of living, yet
this whorl
keeps turning

and we stride
inside the whirl
of this ever

outer arc, that
turns in, turns
out, unfolding

a reel of beauty
that is the real

that string which
is the circle, never
finished, that

turns outwardly
to the opening
of the new, this

day, the start
of our mutual
run, at the opening

of the year.

Beauty, found:
hope, new —

all the best,
to you.
And yours.


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