It's been a hard start to the New Year. Usually December 31st is one of my favourite days of the year, I spend it buzzing with the excitement that a new start and as yet unimagined experiences brings. This year I didn't feel that, I just felt tired. While I was aware of the sense of beginning that starting the year in a new house and a new city had, I mostly just wanted to sleep, to recover from the long build up of getting here (here being both here; London, and Here; babies, business, house, garden, health, Life). Then on January 1st Nye's grandpa had a fall, a bad one. Although at 97 I think all falls are probably bad ones. He has been in hospital ever since and the sad truth is, he's going to be staying there. We don't know how long for, maybe days, maybe weeks. Nye is going back to Scotland to say goodbye.
And so it is that the new year has not felt like a new start but rather an ending. The end of many things; of striving and planning and dreaming and achieving, of flux, of life. I know that in all of those things are new beginnings, but it's going to take a while to feel it. For now, the air is one of winding down, of releasing, of saying goodbye.
(I took these in October, hence leaves, but they seemed appropriate nonetheless.)