December Dirge
This month seems to deny its age--like an old, white-faced dog that, despite its cracking arthritic joints and cataract-cloaked eyes, insists on chasing the trucks that putter down the streets. I guess its warm in other places too this year, and I admit that its an odd and even unwelcome sensation when I move about outside knowing the water that creeps into the mesh cloth of my shoes is from rain puddles instead of snow drifts.
Of course, even as the year refuses to let winter's bony fingers stretch over it, most everyone else seems to welcome its end, seems eager to celebrate its death, or rather what they perceive as its death, and wretch the new year out into what will surely be a cold January. I suppose it's natural for everyone to welcome new changes and new beginnings on their own terms. It's understandable to want to escape from the regrets, indecision, heartaches that strode through 2011, whether they be personal or broad in scope.
I'm hardly an exception to this ritual. In the past, I've welcomed new changes and new opportunities. It's nice to get a fresh start every once and a while.
Yet, time is weary for the impatience of those who try to bottle it. Events and their memory cannot be scraped from the mind like one scrapes frost from a windshield. And now, in the 22nd year of my tiny little corner of perception, I am less eager to escape the past twelve months. Though, I'm in no hurry to try and relive them either.
I'm pleased with myself that I'm finally finding it easier to accept the events of my life with tranquility and not waste time in a fruitless quest to forget or ignore. Try as I might to forget this year, it certainly isn't going to forget me.
Happy New Year.
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