Life is back to normal around here. School started up again. We’re looking forward.
I’ve taken a good long walk every day. Early in the week, hoarfrost blanketed pockets of the neighborhood, and there were a few wet, fat snowflakes. I haven’t yet tired of the winter landscape. This morning when I was out I watched a flock of birds. It was captivating. What makes them fly in unison? What makes them land; what makes them take off again?
I’m not one for making resolutions, but I do have a few hopes for the year to come. One of them is to organize my shoeboxes full of letters and photos dating from when I was about Abbott’s age, but I can’t bring myself to get started. What do I do with it all? Especially those that pertain to people I’m not in contact with anymore? Things that aren’t necessarily sentimental, but that represent something about me; about who I was at one point in time; that remind me that I was once young. Most of it isn’t anything anyone else will ever care about. Maybe I just need to take everything out and look at it all; it’s been awhile.
Here's wishing that at least some of what each of us is hoping for comes about this year.