The Turning

Here comes the turning, the coldest days of winter.

The cars out on the driveway, the scrapes that we got into.

The hard light of confession, the way we bruise so easily.

Here comes the turning, the gratitude of ages.

The tiny, giant planet, the petty wars it wages.

The way we try to balance the activist, the absentee.

I wish you strong,

I wish you brave, I wish you all the music left to hear.

I wish you love,

I wish you heart, I wish you hope at the turning of the year.

Here comes the turning, the place I love is sighing.

People keep their heads down in living and in dying.

The way we hold the sadness, remember what it is to feel.

And here comes the turning, the counting every blessing.

The promise of beginnings, the wishing and the guessing.

And the love that I've been gifted, the love that makes a ghost girl real.

I wish you strong, I wish you brave, I wish you all the music left to hear.

I wish you love, I wish you heart, I wish you hope at the turning of the year.

And if you ever need me, I'll be here, raising glasses, raising eyebrows, raising hell.

And if you can hear me quiet down, I'll find you at the tolling of the bell.

'Cause here comes the turning, we're drawing the horizon.

We're shaking off the old days, the sun just goes on rising.

A simple resolution:

I love you, oh, I love you, I love you.

I wish you strong,

I wish you brave, I wish you all the music left to hear.

I wish you love, I wish you heart, I wish you hope at the turning of the year.