A Look Into Jules' Glass Bottle

  ‘Tis the Season  At the last bell chime, a season slipped from our desolate grasp.  We failed to reappeal  our wishes for a new year. Now, as another passes, the clock seems to have missed a few ticks. Yet it waits for none. So as we share our very last,  carols, presents,  and others’ presence,  longingly cherished.  May we remind ourselves that beneath doubt we still hold a future, not a wistful past. Count every blessing,  fill every glass with cider, to cheers to our new forever after. 

Beneath the Surface I skipped the very last stone,  it landed on the parting waves  of dreams left unsaid.  A smile crept upon my face,  I was caught in a haze.  The soft breeze caught  my breath,  left my hair tangled  with broken promises.  My hands dug into the soft earth below, to align my heartbeat  with creatures alike.  I searched for another,  a stone or pebble,  yet found a diamond.  I lifted my hand,  for it only to escape my grasp,  just as my past.