Bare beginnings

This time of the year always takes my by surprise. The bare branches of the trees, the bare, seemingly empty space left by the now gone Christmas tree and decorations, and the bare newness of a new year. Like the empty pages of a new notebook, waiting, challenging you to fill it with untold stories, bold new adventures. But that's now how everyday life works, does it? No new adventures here, just getting up at 6 in the morning, getting the kids ready for school, not forgetting their lunch boxes and PE kits, managing to reach school in time. Small deeds of great significance. Building character, building lives. All from the bare newness of each day. Going on great adventures is easier. Writing lofty tales is more thrilling. 

Every year I resist this transition. From the cosiness and warmth of the holidays to the cold, get-on-with-the-job practicality of January. I'm sure many people do. I try to dull my senses to the fact that time doesn't, cannot possibly stand still. I try all means at my disposal to trick myself into believing that it may well, for some brief moments, have indeed halted its motion. Then January comes along and shatters my bubble. I find my child-like desire to hold on to lazy days spent at home with family rather curious. In all likelihood it's roots lie in my childhood. When we spent endless happy holidays discovering the world and ourselves.