The completely arbitrary designation of a day to mark the start of the 365.2421875 day cycle that is our seasonal year (or 365.258363657 if you are an astronomer; one of the things I learned in 2025 was that there is a difference) could be taken as axiomatic - it is near enough to the shortest day solstice to feel significant that way - but this year I'm more than usually mathematically grumpy.

I do want 2025 to have ended, however, I just suspect it is more likely to fade slowly from memory like other natural disasters including my first date, my attempts to climb Mount Baldy, and my Oscar for best screenplay (which never seemed to happen even though I've dreamed up some fabulous plots that never seemed to get written let alone shopped around.)

Ah well, let 2026 begin. I hope your next 365.25 or so days are filled with adventure, interesting things to do and plenty of time to just be you.