Here we are ready to start again. A new day, a new calendar, a new year. A few months from now we will have forgotten how fresh our world seems today, but for right now all is well.
One of my friends sends out a poem every Monday. I particularly like the one she sent this past Monday, January 1, 2017.
Let other mornings honor the miraculous.
Eternity has festivals enough.
This is the feast of our mortality. . . .
The new year always brings us what we want
Simply by bringing us along—to see
A calendar with every day uncrossed,
A field of snow without a single footprint.