The clock continues to tick away the minutes, until the end of the year just runs off—to who knows where. No one has ever been able to tell me where it goes. It runs off the clock and falls off the present calendar. Sure, we hang up a new calendar, and of course the clock continues to tick out the rhythm of time—almost like nothing happened. But that leaves me feeling empty and concerned, somehow. It seems cold.
The old year is thrown out with the garbage without thanksgiving or celebration—not even mourning or grieving—no funeral, no laying to rest in proper fashion. 2012 was a very good year—a big year in my life. It seems as though no one but me looks at it that way.
The party people want to get excited about the new year like it’s all that matters. These very same party people carried on about 2012, as they couldn’t wait to drown out 2011. The grass isn’t always greener. And they aren’t any happier having partied for the cause. It just gives them something to do and something to remember when the hangover wears off. I’ve never understood all that.
There’s a fresh new snow, as seen from my window, that covers the old view. A fresh new start for the new year. A bright white beginning. How fitting. Hope springs up. That’s better.
© 2013 Cheryl J. Howell. All rights reserved.
The old year is thrown out with the garbage without thanksgiving or celebration—not even mourning or grieving—no funeral, no laying to rest in proper fashion. 2012 was a very good year—a big year in my life. It seems as though no one but me looks at it that way.
The party people want to get excited about the new year like it’s all that matters. These very same party people carried on about 2012, as they couldn’t wait to drown out 2011. The grass isn’t always greener. And they aren’t any happier having partied for the cause. It just gives them something to do and something to remember when the hangover wears off. I’ve never understood all that.
There’s a fresh new snow, as seen from my window, that covers the old view. A fresh new start for the new year. A bright white beginning. How fitting. Hope springs up. That’s better.
© 2013 Cheryl J. Howell. All rights reserved.
Photo by G.W. Grimm-Howell
The Old Year Passes
by Cheryl J. Howell
January 1, 2013
by Cheryl J. Howell
January 1, 2013
