I set out on a walk for the year to tell me all about itself.
It was gray and raining and the atmosphere loomed heavy over the earth.
This was a beginning of many things (years, semesters, endeavors), and yet it held its own stagnancy. A pause and a quiet; impending, not doom but still one has to wonder.
A wondering based on what we can know; based on the good tests that we have that give us good information. The good brains and microscopes and data. And then too what we simply cannot know; the mysteries, holy and otherwise: our telomeric bodies, the intermittent elections, the mercy and/or terror inherent of the unpredicted.
But, a heavy atmosphere is always an allusion: a spirit brooding over the earth like a mother hen on her nest. A predictable cycle-hold a candler deep up to the dark daily to see the formation of something new, and layered too on the ground are a gloop of pine needles, mossy branches, and leaves that take on the cold and loamy smell of winter to keep the heat, brooding up from below.
And in this pressure pot from above and below interlopes me. Quiet too, heavy also with anticipation. Cutting a straight line across the radius of a new year-wondering.