At midnight, standing from my miniscule balcony in Ballard there is light all around. Fireworks set off in front yards and into the night sky are all around. Horns are tooting. There are ones that sound like crying babies and then somewhere in the background there is a trumpet sounding in one long note. All around I hear clappers and drums and bells and shouting into the dark.
On my balcony I sip one last glass of champagne and take a long drag on the one last Parliment. The cold burrows into my fingers and extremities first and then starts to send shivers into my bones. The cig gets snuffed out amid the tooting and bursts of light and I go inside.
A new year, and new frame of mind, a new direction, place and sense of being. My goodness, how lucky are we to be able to start over, over and over again. January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December, January... The hum-drum of everyday gets interrupted by the fireworks and the noisemakers, by the excitement of the new and by the weight of the old.
Rejoice.
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