Last season’s fruit is eaten
And the fullfed beast shall kick the empty pail.
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding, The Four Quartets
A year’s end, particularly hard won
It saw insecurity and hate eclipse compassion and reason
If this past year didn’t kill us, damn near nothing will.
We can take on whatever comes next.
And we know we have each other’s backs.
So, um. You first.
‘Cause honestly? I need a nap.
Happy New Year, my lovelies. May it be everything you hope for.
Stay tuned for more info on how to win (or join a whole gaggle of us for) dinner with John Robison
(and p.s. if it’s in color above please click on it – these damn links don’t, um, well ‘link’ themselves you know)