The New Year

I actually like that the new year starts in the dead of winter.

It’s a reminder that things often start small.

Just a spark in the dark of the longest nights.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

A seed begins its journey underground,

Dark, damp, and unseen.

But a seed can grow into beautiful things.

The dark is the soil where our dreams germinate.

I actually like that the new year starts in the quiet of the last year’s end.

It’s a reminder that there has to be an ending before there can be a beginning.

Death always gives way to new life.

Just as life gives way to death.

The year doesn’t begin in spring,

as if the flowers arrived fully formed overnight on the first warm morning.

Their journey, like ours, began in the dark cold of winter,

and they’ve pulled themselves up towards the sun,

like they’re the ones responsible for the days becoming longer.

The most beautiful things are conceived in the dark,

where we can’t see, where we can’t know.

And that’s why I love that the new year starts in the dead of winter.

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