It’s Wednesday here still. In other places it’s Thursday already. Every week the story repeats. Every day a similar story is told. I am not one for annual resolutions, but I can relate to those who are. I do my best resolving in the moment when the inspiration, necessity, or courage descends. When it’s time, it’s time. Time for change, as so many will attempt to do tomorrow. Or time for a walk, or time for a bloom.

It’s 37° F here and has been all day. The They People say it feels like 23. After the walk I took earlier, I’m inclined to believe them. Wrapped snugly with a baby, two jackets, a scarf, gloves and hat, my daughter and I set off to walk the dog. The dog? He was quite stylish in his green, grey, and brown sweater rescued from the Goodwill. (He’s a large dog such that they don’t make sweaters in his size, but short haired with little body fat and a big shivering mess when it’s cold, so there you are.)

No one was out. A few cars rolled by, but not a single person was walking, or raking, or checking their mail. The birds were hunkered down on power lines and in bamboo stands alike. The squirrels were happy to leave you wondering where they went.

Ah, but the wind. The wind blustered and billowed. The wind cut through sleeves and ripened cheeks. The wind made no mistaking why no one was out.

You may think we were out walking for the dog’s sake, and while he does enjoy two walks a day most days of the year, he would’ve been more content, I’d wager, curled up on his new Christmas bed by the fire. No, this walk was for her. Our little runchkin who was rather angry that she’d forgotten how to nap today. There are a few magical tricks in our parenting bag that work when “nothing else does” and the best bet is tucking her into a wrap while I walk around the neighborhood. Even that doesn’t always work, and when it doesn’t (like today) it takes a little humming and she’s fast asleep.

So I enjoyed the abandoned yards and still constructed (or half-removed) holiday decorations, because it meant no one would interrupt her precious nap, and no one would hear my humming of two verses of Little Drummer Boy for a mile and a half.

And when we got home, and she’d woken up again, we visited my current favorite volunteer plant and had a seasonal surprise.

Happy New Year, near and far.