January is a tiring time. The end of the year brings so much reflections on our blessings and the challenges we have faced, but January is daunting. Stepping out and walking through the park each day with Duncan sometimes feels like pulling that big book off the shelf, the one I've been meaning to get to but have ignored over and over. The pages are white and heavy and unfamiliar and it just seems to take so long to discover the joy of the characters and language and voice of the author. January is that big empty page and the whole year looms ahead waiting to be written. And as we walk I worry that perhaps I've told the same stories one too many times, that they're tired and couldn't possibly be of any interest to anyone.
But then I watch Duncan run across the wide fields, stirring up the countless geese which have taken to ground, polluting our grass with their strange footprints and their green leavings. I stand back and watch his exuberance and listen to the geese cackle at his sudden rush, then the heavy beat of their wings as they take flight, and I think, "This is a story I don't mind visiting again and again. It is beautiful and remarkable and his delight is worth another thousand words. I could tell it over and over again. And it would still be new."