Here it is December already. All the things I wanted to do in the 365 days, 52 weeks, and 12 long months of 2011 now must be compressed into the few days left, if they are to be accomplishments of this year.
Sigh. Oh the novels that have gone unwritten, the tapestries unwoven, the canvas unpainted, the days unsaved. But wait, I have yet three and a half weeks in which to still save the day!
This is the thing about December: it is not enough to celebrate the major holiday of the year, to shop and ship and bake and decorate. We also must deal with the waning year and all the promises to ourselves that are yet unkept. And we must still meet the daily requirements of work and home and of keeping ourselves and our loved ones warmed, inside and out. Oh, December, do you not demand too much of me? I mull over the month as I mull a cup of hot cider. I will drink both down with as much enjoyment as I can muster.
Even the darkest of Decembers have beauty to notice and savor. Even the most overloaded days have a moment or two to 'save the day,' for yourself or for someone who needs it even more. And soon I will sit and revel over the accomplishments I have made in this past year. But not yet. I'm thinking I still have a bit of time to add to that list first....
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