WHERE THE YEAR TURNETH IN SILENCE, 📡
　　 　(THE TWICE-TEN TIDE RETURNETH.)

The Birth-tide Returneth As A Faint
Trembling That Stealeth Through The
Dim (&’) Dust-laden Hours.
　　　　　　　　　　\
　　　　　No revel, nor cry of mirth, attendeth its coming;
　　　　rather, a wan gleam drifteth across the hollow dusk,
　　　　bearing the remnants of burdens long endured in
　　　　shadow and vigils kept in solitude.

　　👁 EEN STILTE LOS VAN SCHADUW; PEACE.
　　　　XX / .. MMV────────────[NI-KI]

　May the hours henceforth be softened by gentler breaths, granting solace where sorrow hath settled deeply, and yielding peace where the wandering spirit hath grown faint. May the days that follow be graced with quiet mercies, with light unforced, and with rest that stealeth upon the weary like a slow and tender dawn.

Let This Turning Of Birth Become Not A Clamor Of Celebration, But A Subdued Consecration (An Ember Of Renewal Glowing Within The Vast And Uncharted Dark). 

　Thus may the year advance with patient brightness, guiding the soul through the ever-stretching dusk toward such calm horizons as fate permitteth.


ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ Signed in quiet devotion,
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ Leindert Naar.