I think my goals are pretty much the same as last year: eat less and write more. Although enjoying James is up there pretty high on the list, too.

I debated what to put up here–it’s been over a month, and missing the month of December marks a failure. Hopefully a minor one. In my defense, I was editing a manuscript for much of that month, and that kind of task sort of saps my creativity. Great editors can edit creatively, but I’m not one of those. I’d rather be writing.

So here’s to some new ideas in the new year! I hope they’ll find their way onto this journal one way or another. Yeats found his apples of silver and gold, and I hope to stumble across some brass or copper ones, at least.

Happy New Year!

The Song of Wandering Aengus (1899)

By William Butler Yeats

 

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

 

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

 

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.