On the first day of the fourteenth year into this twenty-first century only light moved through the valley.  A kingdom of plenty for the hawks who watched from high wires or high branches the most delicate of movement through browned leaves, through brittle grasses. I often see and hear the crow signal the nearness of the hawk to the ground-bound rabbit but not this day.  First day by our measure; numberless to crow, hawk and rabbit.

Most of us have all needed , at some time, the idea of a definitive answer to the questions surrounding our beginning and ending.  Our first numbers, if you will, and our last.  Some of us more than others, as in all things: seemingly.  To be human in this twenty-first century is to embrace many possibilities.  Some quite marvelous.  Others not marvelous at all unless as a verb marvel includes all that is astounding.  Much of that which astounds in our human made world is not only not to my pleasure but fills me with sorrow and confusion. And maybe this is why I have tried to put aside as many of the numbers as possible.

I know I can never be done with the ever burgeoning quantifiers and calculations of modern life. Not entirely.  But I'm hoping to find that movement of numbers through my life more de-valued.  I'm hoping for less of a need, not so much to abstain from adding it all up, an impossibility, but for an understanding that something outside my word and number-bound structure is living and breathing with grace and ease.  The watchfulness of the hawk, the quietness of the rabbit and the vigilance of the crow can take me there if I let them.  My hope for the new year:  to let them.