Go Already, Year, Get Out of Here

Very soft, cold misting outside here, suitable for ushering a dying year to its grave. The sky is dull grey; the hills are obscured. The wetness makes the vehicles swish as they pass. The daylight, such as it is, escapes; the temperature falls further.

Back where I grew up, winter was a time of snow, ice, wind, fires in the fireplace. Here it is a mostly dull season, when the rains are supposed to fall, except when we have a drought.

This has been one of the driest Decembers on record.

But it also can be sunny and bright, if rarely warm in winter. Sometimes, when the sky is blue, the Bay Area serves as a beacon to those in the snow belt. Hell, even today's weather probably would appeal to them over what they often have back home.

The year just inches away, minute by minute. I don't know why, but this is always an extremely emotional time for me; I find myself taking stock personally of the year as it ends.

At some point, I just want to be rid of it, to close the books, and look back as little as possible going forward.

But for now I'm stuck with it, this measly representation of a 12-month standstill. The damn thing doesn't seem to have enough sense to speed up its departure, like a party guest that overstayed her welcome.

In the mist and the gathering darkness, the only sound left is that of my fingers tap-tap-tapping.

-30-