New Year's Day

During the hustle and bustle of the first day of the New Year, I'm sure I don't differ from many others when I decide to spend it relaxed and reclining at home, enjoying the silence and stillness of the day. I suppose the feeling that you should be getting as the clock strikes 12 is that of renewal, when the clock is wound back again so that things can start anew. In part that's true, but it's also the ending of an old year, the passing of a time that doesn't come back. The mortuary aspect of the new year may also sit well with those of us that have had a bad year, so passing need not be especially mourned.

Lazy days are best spent looking out the window and wondering what could be happening, but taking comfort in the embrace of a warm blanket, senses slightly buoyed by a cup of dark tea. As the fumes rise gently and swirl around the sinking leaves, I sip the scalding liquid gently. The bitterness in the extra strong brew that I have prepared makes all other pending sorrows as sweet as honey. It's the wake-up to the new year that's ideal, so that all surprises and unexpected circumstances will be tinted rosy with a drop of sweet milk. And as the departing heat leaves the fumes of my tea as did the last breath of last year's winter winds in the early morning, the mind drifts to happy musings of what can only be a better year.