The New Year's Week is not like other weeks. Though sometimes I wish it were. Usually the New Year has a way of getting under my skin pushing up memories of the past years to the surface. The New Year week feels like someone opens my front door, takes the rug off the floor and shakes it out the window of my being. Buried feelings, promises not kept, ideas that never made it to form, words said, words not said, paths not taken….
As the emotional dust billows over head I found myself contemplating on what needs to be cleaned up and how to let go of things that don't need to be around anymore. And yes… of course I swept a few things back under the rug.
Last night when we came home after having lunch with friends, I went for a walk in our village. Down the hill, under the moon, along the little road with the cold misty night air, scented with pine and rosemary filling my senses. I listened to the sound of my feet on the path, listened to the night birds singing, and as I approached the center of the village I heard a few champagne corks pop. I felt a rush of happiness.
The dust cloud settled. The feelings of "New Year" paved evenly underfoot and the moon came out from behind the cloud. I unlocked the front door, wiped my feet on the rug and felt at home.
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