On this second day of the New Year, we feel like the people in We Gather to See, Amy Friend‘s wonderful photograph. To gather to see is our mission for the New Year…because, as Naomi Shahab Nye’s beautiful poem Moment* reminds…
There’s a fine soup to be made of every minute.
To the woman who handed over
a folded note, I have enough time
—on a thin slip of pinkish paper,
no name or address—you’re first
in mind this January 1.
Where did we meet?
You smiled shyly, stepped away.
Do you pass that note often?
Maybe you’re a friend dropping lines
when you detect a listener.
And what am I?
There’s a fine soup
to be made of every minute.
A way to stand and stir
so no one catches what you’re doing.
And there’s a sea of gloom
so close under the skin
that loves the taunt of a crisp new year.
Here, this fresh morning
and every to follow,
cabinet of stacked white
bowls, shines wide and plenty.
Each square of the calendar
opens its hungry mouth.
…such possibilities in each day…
*from Transfer by Naomi Shihab Nye