From January to December, thirty one days each and the year gone by is...gone. With it, a thousand memories and countless happy moments. I've been off the page, on the grid: both feet on the ground, two hands in the dirt, and life wide open.
I'm squeaking this in on the wire. As I write, it's eleven forty six pm. There are fourteen minutes until another year starts and I leave 2017 for the books. Eleven forty seven.
As fast as it all goes I've learned the trick of it. Enjoy the speed, embrace the change, watch those gigantic waves in wonder. As I've watched my baby girl grow through her first year, I have certainly marveled at the passing of time. But I've slowed it, too, by joining her in it. Sitting down, snuggling her to bits; warm naps under grey skies; kiss upon kiss upon kiss. I kissed her toes every time I changed her diaper for the first six months of her life, and almost every time since then. Six months times six more times a thousand times a day is a lot of toe kisses, and I drank in every one. Now she approaches the world feet first, so sure she is that she will land on grace (she will) and love (she does) and probably, more toe kisses. To put her growth on paper would have taken me from her growth, so I didn't. I'm here now, re-drinking it in. It's eleven fifty-six.
There's always more I want to pen, here. And I will, given the grace of another year and more words. In the meantime,
Pause. Take a minute, breathe it in. There are lights low and high, countdowns marching onward, frosted breath; fire in the sky over shadows on the snow and life is good. Eleven fifty nine and then some.
Happy New Year.