The whisper of winter on the wind cuts right through even the hardiest of skins.

A late summer's walk, devoid of sin, brings glimpses of new seasons, eras to begin.

Her hands freely give all summer has grown, to winter and wind, to ice and to snow.

The harvests are in, the bounty is plenty. The earth gives her riches 'fore winter strips bare.

We raise our glasses to today, with cheer, to another beginning of a new year.