New Year's Day


My husband and I are surprised to see the crowds at the park this morning.  A group of runners has gathered near the fire pit, stretching and blowing on their fingers.  Someone stands on a picnic bench shouting out directions while another person breaks thin sticks across his knee before feeding them to the fire.  Someone holds a silver banner—Happy New Year!—and ponders where to hang it.

We cross the dam and, for a change, head left and up the hill.  A squirrel nags from his nest at the top of a tree.  Another sits on a branch, teeth scraping against the acorn held in his tiny paws.  Sparrows and chickadees flit among the brush lining the paved path. 

People walk without coats.  Some jog by in shorts.  Couples walk their dogs or talk on cell phones.  Some  smile broadly and wish us good morning.  And some, perhaps weary from the festivities, look tired and grumpy.

And at home, after ten days of being together, we’re a bit grumpy, too.  Our days have lost their definition.  The sharp edges of rules and expectations softened and eventually fell away altogether.  Our routine is lost and we crave it again.  We crave schedules and busyness and to-do lists around which to arrange our lives.


The wind rustles the withered leaves clinging to the pin oaks.  A pair of cardinals flies past.  And just there—a bluebird.  Geese fly overhead, one low honk responded to by several higher, more urgent cries.  Two geese lag behind, calling to the others ahead: Wait for us.  Wait for us.

The new year is a bittersweet time; a melancholy time.  A time of lasts and a time of firsts.  A time of hellos and a time of goodbyes.  A time to look forward to our successes and to admit our failures.  A time to put our lives back in order.  The new year ushers in the season of contemplation; of taking stock of our lives.

As the new year settles upon us, we fit our lives back into a routine; put things back on a schedule.  We impose new restrictions—weight, health, organization, budget.   

We walk down to the covered bridge and I see that the forsythia is in bloom.  And just there, a patch of daffodils has shot up, one season too soon.  And a blue heron sails overhead before coming to land gently and quietly upon the banks of the creek.


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Writing in the Margins, Bursting at the Seams: New Year's Day

Sunday, January 1, 2012

New Year's Day


My husband and I are surprised to see the crowds at the park this morning.  A group of runners has gathered near the fire pit, stretching and blowing on their fingers.  Someone stands on a picnic bench shouting out directions while another person breaks thin sticks across his knee before feeding them to the fire.  Someone holds a silver banner—Happy New Year!—and ponders where to hang it.

We cross the dam and, for a change, head left and up the hill.  A squirrel nags from his nest at the top of a tree.  Another sits on a branch, teeth scraping against the acorn held in his tiny paws.  Sparrows and chickadees flit among the brush lining the paved path. 

People walk without coats.  Some jog by in shorts.  Couples walk their dogs or talk on cell phones.  Some  smile broadly and wish us good morning.  And some, perhaps weary from the festivities, look tired and grumpy.

And at home, after ten days of being together, we’re a bit grumpy, too.  Our days have lost their definition.  The sharp edges of rules and expectations softened and eventually fell away altogether.  Our routine is lost and we crave it again.  We crave schedules and busyness and to-do lists around which to arrange our lives.


The wind rustles the withered leaves clinging to the pin oaks.  A pair of cardinals flies past.  And just there—a bluebird.  Geese fly overhead, one low honk responded to by several higher, more urgent cries.  Two geese lag behind, calling to the others ahead: Wait for us.  Wait for us.

The new year is a bittersweet time; a melancholy time.  A time of lasts and a time of firsts.  A time of hellos and a time of goodbyes.  A time to look forward to our successes and to admit our failures.  A time to put our lives back in order.  The new year ushers in the season of contemplation; of taking stock of our lives.

As the new year settles upon us, we fit our lives back into a routine; put things back on a schedule.  We impose new restrictions—weight, health, organization, budget.   

We walk down to the covered bridge and I see that the forsythia is in bloom.  And just there, a patch of daffodils has shot up, one season too soon.  And a blue heron sails overhead before coming to land gently and quietly upon the banks of the creek.


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11 Comments:

At January 1, 2012 at 1:42 PM , Anonymous Darian Wilk said...

Wonderful post, so vivid, colorful yet dreary; such is the new year. Bravo on your post :)

 
At January 1, 2012 at 1:58 PM , Anonymous Kelly Hashway said...

Happy New Year! I love the imagery in your post.

 
At January 1, 2012 at 2:49 PM , Anonymous Claire said...

...and the shortest day has passed.

 
At January 2, 2012 at 1:01 PM , Anonymous jaum said...

What a great piece this is... Loved this part:
"The new year is a bittersweet time; a melancholy time. A time of lasts and a time of firsts. A time of hellos and a time of goodbyes. A time to look forward to our successes and to admit our failures. A time to put our lives back in order. The new year ushers in the season of contemplation; of taking stock of our lives.
As the new year settles upon us, we fit our lives back into a routine; put things back on a schedule. "

You have a skill to put barely recognized feelings into words

 
At January 3, 2012 at 10:47 AM , Anonymous SoberJulie said...

Lovely imagery, and I crave routine as well
-stopped in from Just Write

 
At January 3, 2012 at 5:51 PM , Anonymous Kgwaite said...

Thanks for stopping by!

 
At January 3, 2012 at 5:51 PM , Anonymous Kgwaite said...

Thanks for reading. Now it's time to order seeds.

 
At January 3, 2012 at 5:51 PM , Anonymous Kgwaite said...

Yes. Thanks for reading, Claire.

 
At January 3, 2012 at 5:52 PM , Anonymous Kgwaite said...

Thank you, Kelly.

 
At January 3, 2012 at 5:52 PM , Anonymous Kgwaite said...

Thanks for reading!

 
At January 3, 2012 at 8:23 PM , Anonymous Galit Breen said...

Perfectly told, beautifully written, poetically poignant.

 

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