As the full moon rose in the east, blackeyed peas soaked in a bowl on the kitchen countertop and turnips, picked at their peak, thawed in the sink. The sky was filled with stars; the temperature was cool; the night was bright.
It was New Year’s Eve, that curious holiday I’ve observed in so many ways: with fireworks and loud music, or Watch Night services at church, or champagne and confetti, or eve…
