The Light on the First

January first. Not early, not late, just that middle part of the morning where it's technically daytime but nothing has been asked of you yet.

The light outside was doing something I don't have a better word for than gray. Not the gray of a bad day, not overcast-threatening, just the particular flat white-gray that January does when it's cold and very still. I made tea and stood at the window for a while, looking at it. The windowsill had the bowl and the card and the photograph on it, the way it always does now, and for a minute I just looked at those too.

The windowsill, January first.

It has been almost a year since Carol's photograph joined them. I don't think I've written about that since May.

I didn't make resolutions. I thought about it, I even opened a note on my phone and typed two words, then closed it. The dry cleaner's window photograph is still sitting in my camera roll, and I am still thinking about going back to that block. That is not a resolution, exactly. It is more like a fact about myself that I keep verifying. I know where I'm going. I just haven't decided when.

Tea, before anything else.

The tea got cold while I was standing there. I made a second cup. That felt like a reasonable way to begin a year.