Another Year has flown.
As 2003 departs, some unpleasant memories remain. Unemployment leaves me much to resolve, but my troubles seem small in a war-wracked World. The Park provides some respite, and not just escape; watching real hawks gives the lie to their metaphorical counterparts. For the birds, like this Red-tail, do not practice domination, rather they are observed to be participants in a vast web of interdependency.
They are no better than their prey.
Moreover, every Year contains all the things that make life worth living, and if in 2003 they were often obscured by untoward events, or by too much cold and wind and wet, still they will be back in 2004. The seasons of the Earth, and of the heart, will have another try.
Another trip around the Sun.
It may be hard to foresee the resolution of our conflicts, but we must have hope: hope for the New Year, and hope in the cause of our being.
These hopes, and the necessity of expectation, oblige us to welcome 2004.
Let it fly.