By the twinkling of an eye the old year passes into the heart of darkness. With a mid-night cry the New Year awakens, ready to trespass upon the eternal hills of time, turning forever with its days and seasons, yet to be.

In the fading silences, heard only by angels, dreams of what might have been are bedded down into the stillness of what was.

I hear the soft wind chimes on my front porch singing the melody of morning music yet to be sung, and I embrace the hope, emerging from fresh beginnings, as I greet the breaking dawn with an ageless prayer: "Dear Lord, I whisper to the Sovereign spir...