Tradition!
There's something magical about the first days of a new year. Post Christmas I become desperate to get the old year done with. Itching to get the new calendars up on the walls, and to rid the house of cards, trees and all the glittery trappings of Christmas. It's not that I don't like Christmas, I do, but it's that period between Christmas and New Year that's the hardest. Hogmanay itself is a weird one where I'd gladly roll up into a ball and hide in a dark cupboard. The cat feels the same. She doesn't leave my side at hogmanay. The only thing likely to coax me out of this mood is David Attenborough on the tele. This year was no different. However, by New Years Day I felt lighter, even though I'm far from it! (It's the chocolate - mmm). I spent the morning stroking my cache of new notebooks and grinning. I know 2019 is going to be great, there's that tingly feeling on the skin and the air smells different. Dragging myself away from the notebooks I took a walk across the park. The ground was pale gold, dusted with morning frost. Dog walkers abounded. I detected the same hopeful look on their faces, nursing their new year resolutions like a secret - so maybe I wasn't so strange after all. The sun was out. The sky was an opalescent blue. I watched a dipper jink in the river, diving into the icy water before wing-flicking back onto a rock. When I reached the dark underbelly of the railway bridge, I took a quick shifty to see if anyone was within hearing distance and kicked up my heels and la-la-la'd my way through a dodgy rendition of 'the girl with the buckles on her shoes.' The echo is superb under there - And it's tradition!