turning, turning
The year turns, and turns itself into something we can't possibly imagine: each second different from every previous, precious or unprecious moment. The rainwater on the tree's branches unlike any other rainwater on any tree branch the world over. The blackbird's song a fraction of a decibel quieter, a microtone flatter than yesterday, than last year, than the decades gone. The paper of my books on the shelves a little more yellow and friable than before. The guitar strings' tension more agonised. And so it goes—and goes on.
I hope this new year brings a time for quietness and harmony in all our lives, and for the spark of creativity to kindle the flames of new growth in whatever medium we choose. Some of us are lucky to have what we have; some have luck and love stripped away. I'll take each day, and then take each next and successive day, as it approaches, with sure-footed footsteps on the unmetalled roads of the future.
All my warmest wishes for 2024, and thanks for reading and listening over the last year.