I often reflect upon the many days we celebrate as New Year's Days.
For me, this one looms large:
The day I finish my U.S. tax forms and send them off on wings of postage.
Think of it as a Phoenix moment. A purging fire seizes your old year, reducing it to coal-black numbers. When they are burnt down to papery ashes comes the liberating knowledge that you may now fly free, back to reality.
So you hot-foot it out like some magical little bird.
Today being the nineteenth you may well guess that I waited until the last possible day to finish fanning the coals of 2010. No particular reason: the year burnt down to small numbers. Even so they kept me warm.
And today outside the house an unseasonable storm has been sending snow down aslant and thick all day long ... on this symbolic January One for an over-wintering soul.