I am one of those people that dislikes the holidays (although, this is in fact changing as new traditions are born.) But I absolutely love this time of year. I think everyone gets that sense of nostalgia, the realization that another year has gone by, another year is coming and that too will go by. It’s surely a time to reflect on the good and the bad, a time to maybe forgive yourself for your failings. There’s always the possibility of next year.
I’m on the bus headed from my previous home in Ithaca to my new home in Brooklyn. And it is stunning outside. I wonder if anyone else on the bus can see it, if they can see past the houses with peeling paint, the broken down cars and all the other decrepit artifacts of small town, once-was Americana. The sun is glowing off rolling hills, all perfectly lined and criss-crossed from the fall’s harvest, green pines standout among the thin tree trunks whose leaves have all fallen. Everything glows orange and we are all part of a warm embrace.
It is beautiful and I want to hold on to it like it is the last time I will ever see it.