So it’s done. All over. All those weeks of shopping and planning, of fruitcake-sousing, of mincemeat mixing. Of house-decorating and relatives-appeasing. The pantos. The carolling. The ‘what-on-earth-am-I-going-to-give-Great-Aunt-Jean’-ing?
Then the day itself when we gorged ourselves. On food, on drink, on presents, on tinsel. We surrounded ourselves with the ones we love and filled our eyes, our ears and our belly with treats.
And then 24 hours later, it was over. Well not quite, of course. There are still a load of leftovers to finish (turkey curry, anyone?). There are still a couple of needles yet to fall off the tree. And the batteries in the new lightsabres are just about clinging on in there.
But it’s done. What now?
Now.
This time in-between. This brief moment when the world seems to pause on its axis, just for a blink and you’ll miss it instant. A time of quiet, of stillness, when the old year is done and the new one hasn’t yet begun.
It’s a moment to breathe, to notice, to reflect and to just be.
It’s as if all the lights, the glitter, the sparkle, were a precursor to this. We’ve overwhelmed our senses so that we can better appreciate this stark interlude. The charcoal grey of a bare tree against a cold sky is the perfect balm to tired eyes, worn down by bauble-laden interiors. The crunch of frost-encrusted humus underfoot the calm antithesis to the jangle of jingle bells. Having run ourselves ragged, the only option is to stop. And by stopping we are able to regroup, reflect and recalibrate.
The perfect moment to let what’s gone before go and to reach towards what is to come.
Happy New Year.
A moment spent reading this is a moment well spent.
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