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Personal Note:
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Poem
With John Wayne snarling at me
from the television screen,
I quickly glance at my watch;
five minutes to the end 
of a year’s journey through
what the Psalmist would describe
 as the Valley of Death,
and what Dante would describe
as a descent through hell.

The little small ball of white fur
whines at my feet,
his almond dark eyes
begging for the last bit of cheese
I have in my hand.
Take him out now 
for his nocturnal constitutional,
Or wait until three in the morning?
It is not a difficult choice.

The puppy and I head for the door.
The puppy runs hither and yon
around the yard,
sniffing and searching
the frozen ground 
for the perfect spot 
to make his nocturnal emissions.

I reflect upon the arrival
of another year In Anno Domini, 
with dread, or is it anticipation?
Another year of grace 
is what they always say about
the turning of a new year.
Like the puppy running from
one frozen turd to another 
in the yard, I, sniff and search
among the heap of promised
 “grace-filled moments?” 
from my past year.

The church bells begin
to peal out the old year
as the puppy stops and
stands poised upon a 
strategically chosen location
to unleash the grace
contained within himself
upon the frozen ground.
I appreciate my puppy’s
brilliant metaphor of
crapping out the old year
to make room for the new year.

There are some years indeed,
in which grace is bestowed
in abundant quantity.
And, there are some years indeed,
in which one must sniff
and scratch to find the grace
hidden within the dung heap.

The church bells cease their tolling,
as the puppy, in a triumphal display
Of accomplishment, 
kicks with his hind feet,
bits of ice, snow, and fecal matter 
high into the air.
The puppy, head held high,
small tail wagging, and I, 
retreat from the frozen yard
toward our house.

Warmth and a hope for new grace
greet us as we enter the house.
And, as I close the door,
I glance once more at the frozen yard.
I leave the old year 
and its promise of grace,
lying in a heap 
upon the frozen ground.
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