Happy New Year

On our way home from the 1231 -> 11 fes­tiv­i­ties last night — K dri­ving, because I’d had more than just a taste of my brother-in-law’s brandy slush — we passed a road blan­ket­ed in soft new snow, with just one soli­tary set of tracks down its cen­tre. It struck me as the most per­fect metaphor for a new year: a trail undis­cov­ered, wait­ing. In three hun­dred six­ty-odd days it’ll be deeply rut­ted, heav­i­ly trav­eled, alive only in mem­o­ry. But right now it’s full of untapped poten­tial.

I want­ed to ask K to stop the car so I could take a pic­ture. But it was 2:30 in the morn­ing, so I didn’t, and now I feel a kind of gen­tle regret. So here’s a hun­dred or so words to try and take the place of a pho­to.