New Years Day 2022.
12:30pm. Unseasonably warm (41f/5c). Grey. Foggy. Misty.
A couple days ago I posted an image of a withered rose on social media and wrote the caption, “If 2021 were a rose.” There was a lot of reaction, most of which I agree with… that 2021 for the most part was a difficult and even ugly year (even though there was also much beauty and hope). But there’s also another meaning to the image. While the rose is withered and seemingly dead it is still beautiful in its own way. And it also—in some ways—represents the end of the year with the prospect and optimism of the new year ahead. There are 365 blank pages ahead and waiting, how we fill the pages is up to us.
“The future is unwritten.” — Joe Strummer (née John Graham Mellor).