Soulful

On the Year's threshold
there is magic afoot
lurking in each shadow,
waiting to break as light
from behind clouds
that veil the unknown.

In the Eve's stillness
a mist enfolds field 
and forest, horses stir,
restless, unsettled,
the fox raises his snout
to sniff a new scent.

And I catch it too,
an intimation of hope
eddying, disembodied,
between tree and hedgerow,
poised to fall as a shower
gently washing the soul.

©Janet Henderson 31st December 2018