For the first 18-25 years of our lives, a new year begins in September. Close to Labor Day. A new school year, a new year, a new chance to begin afresh.
But the calendar indicates that a new year begins in the middle of winter. In January. How unnatural is that.
I was reading a European quilter's blog the other day. It was written in Hungarian and she had thoughtfully provided a translator. So some of the phrasology was quaint or just a tad awkward. Then I came to this magical phrase that I thought of this morning when I noticed that the dogwood leaves, right on schedule, have begun to turn. Read it. Read it slowly. And aloud. And you'll see how lovely it is:
Slowly it is autumn already knocking at the gate.
Come on in, autumn. We're ready. And Happy New Year.