I sit outside watching snowflakes drift, a vague sun shining, icicles shimmering with dancing motes of reflected light.  It’s quiet.  It’s calm.  It’s still.  Softly, far away in the background, Enya sings gentle Christmas carols.

I can breathe.  There’s no hurly-burly.  And I think.  I think about this last year. About the year before.  And about the one coming in a week.  It’s time for changes.  Changes for me.  I know what I’m going to do, now.