The new year is coming in. I am not as welcoming as I had hoped. I find myself still thinking too much about the old one. I hear the wind coming through the chimney down into the fireplace and rattling around like a reminder of things left unsettled. I stopped awhile, stopped painting and stopped putting away the old year to put cabbage and black eyed peas on the stove and some fresh lemon in the iced tea I made earlier. I listened longer to the wind stirring around and causing some sort of melancholia to settle in on the crisp new year. I can’t identify it and I certainly don’t like it, so I am writing hoping to find it here in these words to dispel it.
I think it comes from the sudden switch – the anticipation of the holiday and then newspapers and TVs overflowing with white sales and weight loss and Valentines on greedy store shelves. Where is Christmas? By now, I have gotten so weary of this media directed world we have created – I so long for creative thoughts and originality and time to be a bit more still – time to absorb instead of rushing on to the next “thing”. I think how big the world once was and how we had space to become who we were.
Maybe that’s it, maybe that’s what lingering and bothering me – the herding of society? Oh my, that is way too harsh of a thought or comment, way too disagreeable of an assumption.
I am heading outside. I will bundle up and walk through the drenched field and come back with good thoughts, for I know I will see a cardinal and I will hear my two goats in the woods, eating grass and paying no mind to this hype that hangs around me. I will make a mental note to get bird seed and plant a camellia and another citrus tree before spring, pick a few oranges, wait for the new moon tonight and think about those pure moments within the holiday that connected me to my family and when I do these things, I will be happy.