1801 THERE WAS A TIME

when the prospect of a new year filled me with excitement; so much potential, so many opportunities.  A new diary with all those blank pages waiting to be filled in with details of days seized, of life lived.

Happy Days,

innocent days.

Now those blanks fill me with a vague fear, the unknown seems threatening rather than promising.

Those around me struggle with health and age, with love and life – i know its a generation thing but its my generation and our future does not appear bright as we leave a trail of uncertainty, destruction even, behind us.

Illness and injury marked the beginning of 2018 for us; a minor injury to my calf tumbled me back into darkness, my running antidote torn from me even as i embraced it tightly.

The long dark grey days of January a fitting accompaniment to my mood.

Strangely though, the darkness serves to emphasise the light, my family, laughter, good books and films, my family, a half hour of sunlight, a kindly stranger, the overwhelming kindness of friends, the international web of communication and friendship we inhabit spun with the invisible strands of the internet, a quiet moment, cooking for my family, my philosophy class, my family;

Like a dark grey canvas spattered with colourful moments, my life is on display.

So I record,

rather than predict.

All that matters is the moment, this moment, which requires filling, or not, and passes gently, or not, but passes anyway.

We can dance in the coloured splashes,

or cower in the grey host.

If we can choose, let us choose the colour.

Namaste my friends.

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