The city exhales a fever of light
as the crowds reach for the newborn year;
New Year’s Eve throws the windows wide
and drowns the dark in a collective cheer.
The future hums with a restless promise;
and change is claimed in motion,
a thousand voices caught in the rush
of a vast and rising ocean.
But somewhere in the Highlands,
Hogmanay* lingers at the door,
keeping watch on the fire and silence
and the path we’ve walked before.
The year is not hurried or driven out;
it is gathered, leaf and stone.
For the past stands not behind us,
but beside us—
in marrow, spirit, and bone.
We need the shout and the stillness,
The glass raised high, and the hand held fast.
One welcomes the ghost of the future,
One honours the weight of the last.
Midnight is the thin, silver seam
where the ending and beginning are one;
a moment to hold the fire we carried
before we turn to the sun.
* Hogmanay is Scotland’s ancient New Year. It comes from old Norse and Celtic winter rites, a way of meeting the new year only after fully acknowledging the one that has passed. It is honoured through fire, shared whisky, first footsteps, and long pauses… by gathering what the year has been, blessing it, and carrying it gently forward rather than rushing to leave it behind.
