Undiscovered Violet [A Reflection for New Year's Eve, 2017]

Undiscovered Violet—A Reflection for New Year’s Eve, 2017

Waning December

reminds me

that we have nearly taken

one more circuit around

the sun.

But the precise moment--      

the exact coordinates

in space and time--

that mark the orbit’s completion,

matters no more

than any other instant,

dots on a Seurat canvas,

all of them.

Lives are made of such points,

each one blurring into the next,

each finding its meaning

because of the next,

each revealing its own hue

because of the colors around it.

A year is hardly

one figure in the frame—

the woman with the umbrella, perhaps,

or the sail on a boat—

it is the composition of countless, tiny

strokes of color, each one

necessary and forgettable all at once.

And so one figure bleeds into

the next for the eye, while

the mind dissects

and diagrams

discrete faces

and forms and foreground.

The turning of the year

is no different. We

need breaks in

the painting,

and so the mind

draws imaginary circles around

this clump of days,

and that patch,

making lines and borders

to distinguish the days

we are living.

But we cannot truthfully

call it all good

or all terrible.

There is orange beside purple, yes.

There is unexpected blue
in a woman’s face,

and there are shades of green

that appear to clash

the red of the man’s hat.

The ugly is there,

and so is the beautiful,

the wondrous and the hideous,

and they must be named

as they are and

taken all together,

these momentary dots

comprising our days.

So take in each point

as you will,

each silhouette and shape,

every last spoken word and movement

of the year’s orbit behind.

But watch for what comes next:

the masterpiece continues,

wider and taller

than the gray blotch

through which we have been living,

and more brilliant than

a single fleck of gold

at midnight.

There is yet more

undiscovered violet,

waiting for your eyes.