The disposal of an old year and turn into a new one is a process I recall as ageing. Some people might see it as an open window deluged with the fresh air of a new beginning, a yearning future. I rather recall it as ageing.
On Christmas time one comes back home. One comes back home to lick out the pain of wounds and banishment. And each corner of the old house lightens up alive. Each corner starts up the mechanisms of old memories. Each corner comes up to life. The clock ticks on and on ahead; time becomes a little more mature, but still glazing with the varnish of the past. One feels at ease. Peace. A recommendable peace. A peace boosting straight into the future, deeply rooted in the past.
A sweet, refreshing stop in the dust of a demanding pathway.
Happy New Year!
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