The Old Year

The old man hobbled on his cane, unsure of his step; his hair was solid white, his face wrinkled with the passing of the year. He sighed heavily, with a twinge of sadness, but also glad that his tenure was almost over.
Only twelve months before he had stepped on the threshold of a New Year, ready to take command, full of hope and optimism. Twelve months before he had been a young man, believing in dreams. Now he felt like Lot, leaving behind the carnage of Sodom and Gomorrah, afraid to look back. It was small wonder that the people wanted him out and wanted someone younger and stronger to take the reins and lead them.
So his journey had come to an end and the last days of the year appeared before him. He would spend them with someone younger at the helm, spending his last days in quiet reflection. If he had touched a few lives, it was worth it, gray hair and all.
Once, he was going to change the world and soften the hearts of man. And he had been warned by his predecessors about how tough the job was. If there was one thing to be gained it was wisdom. The tired old man ushered in his successor. "Go, young man. God be with you." he boldly encouraged the New Year. And the New Year leaped forward to a new beginning, toward a joyful chorus of "Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards men."

God Bless You!

(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2000