We note the turn of a calendar page. Our celebration is small and personal. But somewhere in the building the sounds of a joyful party spirals up with loud, young voices. At midnight, there are fireworks around the city we can hear. We go to the windows but we cannot see. Even the stars are hiding between the clouds. Big secret celebrations. Still, our music is Sinatra and Basie and our kiss — enough celebration for the turn of a page and the promise of what’s next. The real big secret.
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Roseann Weiss
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