Walking up the mountain in crocs

It’s like the mystery of the missing Amber Room, where did it all go? 

Where did so much of the 24^th year of this millennium go?  Much has disappeared; vanishing and evaporating under pages of this year’s diary.

Some days were brilliant, with crisp blue skies and delicious snacks, and harmony.  Other days were mud fests as challenging as walking up the mountain in crocs.  Some days were boring, others frustrating and some days were wasted and left behind.

All in all, and in the tears and the smiles, we try to be kind and somewhat honest, and we turn up again, and we do it once more.

We wrote poetry for one another and spent our time with those who are close.  We watched sunrises and swam in the sea.  When bigger than one, and when all is done, we elected politicians who will do us harm and shrugged at the results of our broken climate.  We felt sadness and loss and felt love and light-heartedness.

Here it is:  the last few weeks of the year. 

And a few nights ago, in St Patrick’s Cathedral I listened to the carol singers, and I felt wonder and awe.  In the lights of the 800-year-old cathedral I heard the magical voices sing ancient songs with notes known from the start, and there, in that place of refuge, I said a silent thank you to the inventor of music, the director of sound, to the waves that carry them forth into me, and I felt a peace.

A piece of the harmony that was there in the spirit, and the into the rhythm of life’s quiet.