The end of the year feels so close, like a wild animal chasing at my heels, straining to catch my leg, waiting to swallow me whole. But it isn’t fear or dread that I feel at the coming year - I can’t quite place my finger on how it is that I feel. It’s as if, as much as I’m ready to take on the year, the year is ready to take on me. It’s coming for me. And I don’t know what yet that means or what it will bring.
Monday morning on another strange, part-vacation week. The skies are gray and while it’s light out, it’s a half-light that only makes you feel cold.
There is more more more to say, but the clock is ticking and I need to put on my shoes and brush my teeth and get on my bike and go to work. And there is always more to say, whether I can drum it up inside of me or whether it sits trapped, or waiting, or both.
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