New Year, Snow

Tonight, we celebrate, ready ourselves. We hope, plan to do the things we wish to do, to not leave things undone. It is chancy. Some years, we know, are better than others.

I celebrate this past year--celebrate having been able to do some of the things I wanted to do all the way down in my toes. I wish for more of that spirit, luck, for us all in the year ahead--the spirit that has us toiling toward the things we want to do deep, deep inside. The one that grants us eyes with which to see them once we get there.

It snows, has just begun to snow, painting everything grey and white. A fresh start, in the cleanest, truest, thickest sense. So. A muffled, snowy walk. A glass, filled with bubbles, raised. A snippet of T.S. Eliot's "Four Quartets." The rest can wait for the new year.

For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.

Happiest of new years to you, dear reader.
Cheers and cheers and cheers to you.

{Photo, Me}