Year

It's still New Year's Eve in San Francisco, but I'm wishing everyone here >>Happy New Year!<< now.

I wait to decide my New Year's Resolutions until January 10th. That way the holidays are over and life has settled down again. I'm better able to focus on the changes I want to make in my life.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

In another year, I'll be able to move away from this town. I wonder where I'll go?

So far this year the weather has been much warmer than usual.

A normal variation – or is this part of a global warming problem?

My teacher told me once that a year held twelve months or 365 days.

That may be. But it is more important to know the ceremonies of the seasons.

The Harvest Pledge comes when the nights are cool and the moon full and orange. I count my years by it and it alone.