Though a vast, snowy wood seems desolate, it is full of life. It once was, it is now, and it will be again. It all continues, fresh as the morning, as sure as the sunrise. Assorted zealots and long-to-the-dust Mayans couldn’t stop it, or even slow it down.
We assign beginnings and endings for context, the delineation being of some comfort: yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Alpha and Omega, with eternity in between.
We march in lock-step with a ruthless minute hand, perhaps by choice, and then shake our fists at fine lines and hairs turned snowy. We might be more gracious about our ride through Time if we could travel Billy Pilgrim-style.
The calendar cycles to a close and most of us cross together into a “new year,” whereas others stay behind. Behind, yesterday, is a rapidly receding continent where we can never visit. One that is populated with people and places that we might bid good-riddance, or painfully miss.
We cross over onto a new continent that is, as all unexplored continents are, full of the unknown. Hold hands and look both ways when you cross.