This New Year’s Eve promises to be devoid of customary celebrations and joyous fanfare. They have canceled fireworks, giant disco ball drops, and gatherings of any size. Parades, 5k runs, and sporting events have morphed into virtual events. Exciting hotel rendezvous with your closest friends, flowing champagne, and passionate midnight kisses to ensure a prosperous year are not on the evening’s agenda. We won’t host house parties with homemade Jell-O shots, raucous games, and a groaning table covered with a potluck of traditional dishes. 2020 rewrote every previous definition of abnormal events.

Nothing matters as I wait, anticipating the midnight countdown to close the books on the past twelve months. I have been waiting for this exact minute, the moment the cosmic fulcrum tips and permits us to consider the inconceivable and allows us to hope. My inner conviction says the sun will rise each morning, that evening follows day, and the stars and planets proceed along a predictable path. I believe in the inherent goodness of human beings. It sustains my long vigil, for the better world I know lies beyond the horizon.

Somehow it seems appropriate for our wishes are born in darkness, in a cold, quiet night, while nobody is watching, where no one can see. One tiny flicker is all it takes.

How will you mark this New Year’s Eve?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer