(From a prompt by Kate Belew, the Word Witch)

A new year rises from ash.

We sweep them from the threshold of the front door.

Opened to greet the fire rising again in the east.

Beginnings often start with endings and destruction.

The fire prepares the soil for a dream planted months ago.

I am proofed in the fire, 

the outer shell incinerated  

before I start to put out 

Tender new growth.