You'd hardly believe it's January. The weatherman says it will hit near 50; all the snow has turned into a slush fest. The skylights on the roof -- buried in snow a week ago -- are clear but streaked with soot. I wonder if the tenant below had a flood.
The light on the apartment house across the way is yellow, like an old-fashioned street lamp. For some reason, it seems particularly bright as the sun starts to rise. I cracked the blinds so that I could see it, a beacon to the neighborhood, a constant.
I'm debating whether to start my day and the new year, or listen to the news, or just doze in the big maroon chair. I wonder if what I do now will set the tone for the year. I wonder if I'm being too categorical.
Happy New Year!