It’s quiet; so quiet that I slept past the time that I had intended. Although I’ve woken in the late morning, the only sound I hear is the singing of a lone bird. Even the sun is shrouded in cotton today – its own type of quiet. I’ve just returned from a walk. I expected to see neighbors enjoying their holiday, possibly nursing hangovers on their front steps, driving to the market. Instead, I see almost no one, hear almost nothing. Children are not playing with their new toys and bikes today, no one is mowing their front yards and only one neighbor is using the day to defrock his house of lights. Today, the sounds are few, yet I notice the smells. The ground smells fecund and earthy from the recent rains. The air is filled with the perfume of fires in fireplaces. On certain corners, I catch heady whiffs of roasting meat – at first, my head says, “lamb”, but thinking of my neighborhood, I realize it’s most likely goat. Is a roasted goat a New Year’s tradition? I don’t know.
Today is not what I would expect for New Year’s Day, but, then again, it’s a new year…and anything is possible.