I watched as a stone caught in the currents of an early January morning shower, fought its way up the stream. Then I thought, Janus, the door, the opening month for hope, towards the new year. Nevertheless the year was still breathing its early gulps of air, and the stone was now rolling down, alone, unprotected from the grips of some crevice in the limestone beneath. Nearby a waterfall captured my attention, and slowly I moved beforth, forgetting the stone to its destiny. My pallid face, colourless, faint, lacking the warmth of those rays of light that indulge my present.



