The last day of '18 - soon it will be mothballed and relegated to memory - something not real like a dream as if we were not really there. Our thoughts on the year were good ones: good moves, good work, good food, good happy. And we are the lucky ones (although luck can be worked for, hard-earned). Looking into the unknown what can we do except be glad of the moment that is real and in our hands and with no tears.next poem