As a blue moon rises over the waning yearspilling soft light through cloud-lace,
and tree shadows,
we burrow into the comfort of home.
Warm air from the woodstove
curls through hallways,
through the memories of bygone days.
Stories rise like the moon,
up through gales of laughter,
up through tears of loss or longing,
like ribbons, weaving things together...
weaving us together.
~ a poem for New Year's Eve, by aisling, 12/31/2009