I sit outside watching snowflakes drift, a vague sun shining, icicles shimmering with dancing motes of reflected light. It’s quiet. It’s calm. It’s still. Softly, far away in the background, Enya sings gentle Christmas carols.
I can breathe. There’s no hurly-burly. And I think. I think about this last year. About the year before. And about the one coming in a week. It’s time for changes. Changes for me. I know what I’m going to do, now.