hushed

I cannot make any resolutions for this new year. I cannot choose a word to define the coming months. Time is too fluid, the days too much like water--ebbing and flowing, following the path yet so easily do they carve out new ways to be, to move. To assign a single word to the changing nature of the days and weeks and months would do this year an injustice; this year has the potential to be both wonderful and disappointing, to show a darkness in the light and a light in the darkness. How can I choose one mixture of letters to define everything that can, and will, happen this year? I cannot, so I sit here, hushed into a contemplative silence, surrounded by the cold air of winter. The sun rests in the sky, sharing a bit of warmth on these frigid January days.