Last night we whispered, ‘Happy New Year’.
No dancing and singing; no festive food, wine, and sparklers glittering.
We sipped and read quietly at home, contemplating another year gone and looking forward to the new one to come.
Almost another year older. I feel a bit jaded, perhaps wiser, and I feel like I’ve aged, and I’m so much older.
I sit thinking about all the people I have not seen. No hugs and kisses unless they are through a screen. Friends down the road I have not seen, and a longing to do so much with so little time, sometimes I’m searching for the words to say what I mean.
The January Dawn passed us by as we slept in late. Whatever this year brings, I hope we come together, become closer, and learn to embrace love and not hate.
Life is not lived by the rich and the few. Life is lived by smallfolk: by me, you.
At times like this, I feel the pull of that longing place. The place with a door leading me to somewhere magical: a hidden world with a forest and the phenomenal. Is it my inner place?
I wanted to open that door wider for many years, yet I get closer, and I falter and think of my peers and imaginary sneers. Is my inner place calling for the two halves to meet? So separate they have been that no one knows where one-half ends and the other half meet.
For now, I sit hidden from the blistering sun. I peeked at the outside world, at the browning lawn that we must mow, which will not be much fun.
I sit here and wonder what we should do. How many more New Years’ Eves will I get to share with you?