hushed

I cannot make any resolutions for this new year. I cannot choose a word to define the coming months. Time is too fluid, the days too much like water–ebbing and flowing, following the path yet so easily do they carve out new ways to be, to move. To assign a single word to the changing nature of the days and weeks and months would do this year an injustice; this year has the potential to be both wonderful and disappointing, to show a darkness in the light and a light in the darkness. How can I choose one mixture of letters to define everything that can, and will, happen this year? I cannot, so I sit here, hushed into a contemplative silence, surrounded by the cold air of winter. The sun rests in the sky, sharing a bit of warmth on these frigid January days.

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