Years get carved like buried blocks of old ice on some forgotten continent; pressed down and heaped upon by: joys and woes, happiness and pain, beginnings and endings, growth and dying.
So buried, one can no longer see the minutes and the hours that poured down from creation to allow such life. So still, that reaching back, no matter how prolonged or purposeful, will not awaken it from its slumber.
Yet there is a yearning, a connection of some kind that will not allow all that has been done to merely slip into oblivion. One day the light shall come, when all the hours and days have done their work. The light will bring all that sleeps out of slumber, so it might begin again.
Each New Year, we do this with our soul, as we repeat the cycle over and over; perhaps in anticipation of an even greater cycle.
Happy New Year’s