When the tyre tracks have filled with sand and the sand has worn away the footprints and all that's left of the windmill blades is the windmill of your mind; when there is no one left and bread crusts drop from Heaven because there is no human hand cast; when all our yesterdays are black and white and faded sepia, dune colours and rust; when all of that has worn away and one is left to look at the creak that spun and now is still in the wind; then the windmills of your mind meet no mind, those minds having flown like yesterday's wind. Some of my friends do not greet this new year. They live in my mind, memories gliding across a stormy sky, grit flying and stinging, sand drifting and settling on a deserted beach where we used to be. Dead.
But some of us still live, and new people come about to bring pleasure to the world by their lives and being. You might be one of those new people in the world. I hope you live a long time and well. Happy New Year.