I’m the type to analyze, to reflect, to set NY resolutions, all that shit, you know? And that’s exactly what I have done in the past.
2022 feels markedly different. Aged 66-plus, preoccupied with a book I can never seem to get closer to the end, 2022 is easy. It’s a decisive year of 365 days. I know what to do and how to do it (well, not exactly the latter, but in theory that’s the case). No need to reinvent myself or come up with new life hacks or tilt at new moons. The dreamer slides off the stage, the workhorse lumbers on.
On the first day of the year, just after dawn, the sky is washed-out pale blue. It’s a birthday day and we’re heading to the “poo farm” (the Western Treatment Plant, Australia’s top birding site) to celebrate the birthday and to celebrate the natural world beyond our normal concerns. Binoculars, that’s the metaphor for 2022.