Sunday, January 1, 2017

New Year's good intentions in a matchbox


The first day of 2017, it's still early, when I hear some scratching at the kitchen door. No, for our four-legged friend it doesn’t make a difference on how long the day before was and just needs to do what it does every morning at 7, also on the first of January. Sometimes we decide to crawl back under the blankets together, next to the Lady of the House, but usually I don’t. After a few hours of laying down, my back needs some vertical gravitation, my blood pressure can use a little caffeine and my mind longs for nicotine. The new year won’t change much in that perspective, the good intentions that I've taken are secretly stowed in a matchbox, which seems large enough. The fog over the valley creates a virgin look at the new year, it's quiet and peaceful. Well, until the world comes in through the laptop, talking about the first victims of the year in a terrorist attack, Trump's first tweets, burning ferries, bailiffs who even turn out to collect on New Year’s day, and the low-slung fireworks powder fumes that would be dangerous to public health, something which proves that to house refugees of war "in the region" is not an option. In other words, today is just an extension of yesterday ....

No comments:

Post a Comment

Summer is over (and that's a good thing)

The summer this year was an ongoing repeatment of sunshine, hot weather and hardly any rain. It lasted months, this torture of nature. For m...