Last Sun of the Year

They stood. Silently. Almost fearfully. Waiting. Waiting.

Like children lined up in order, in order to receive, their SchoolMaster's address. What were their marks? Did they make, the grade?

Did they do, give, earn, be . . . enough? Forever enough?

Would they be remembered. Legacied, as they should and wanted . . . to be?

They stood. Silently. Almost fearfully. Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting for the Last Sun of Year cloaked in it's anciently radiant robe; to enter, judge, pronounce and proclaim legacy.

She came. Intoned. "Days, you have done, served and honored your duty, well. Yours was a true reflection!"

Relieved, reverently responsible days heaved, heavily while heavy heads, hung bowed.

These days have ended, as the Sun awards.

We move on. Solemnly suffering and gleefully gaining our fate.

We only carry the credit we experience.

Last Sun of the year.