Hale and well met, my fellow journeywomen and men of the sometimes paved, sometimes rubbly road to all our favourite things. This year will see you starting ebullient, smelling of good, sweet caramel (not the cheap sort), your self-sure smile lacing your determined jawline with hope. You know you will be perfect; nothing more could be truer than your own ability to live this life the way you always meant to. By February, you will look into the creek that chortles next to your path and see your rippled reflection casting shy nods of approbation, at you, at you and no other; in March you will stumble on the rocky landfall that lies in your way, but then congratulate yourself on the well-made shoes you didn’t skimp on back in January. April, May and June will see the clouds hover but, seeing the glint on your sun-bleached hair from months of being allied with the light, they will whisper and relent; July, August and September will see nothing less than the burgeoning spring in your step, your spirit and the wildflowers that blossom along your trim, paved trail to the top of the mountain from sheer joy at having such a companion. October is your month of baked goods, where you indulge yourself in the delight of sharing your good fortune of biscuits and brownies with others, who will be gladdened by your passage through their lives and morning tea plates. November the peak is in sight, and who would have thought it was so far still to go! But do not despair – you have had a great year, a fine year, a year of imagination and hope and justice and delight – and December and a thousand more footsteps, and you will be there. Where? You know: there, where you were at the very beginning – on your road, the right road, the good road skipping with all your favourite things.
Happy New Year, my old friend!