In the heart of the forest, where time moves slowly, the man came upon the last breath of December.

The Year: ‘Why do you seek my shadow in the silence, whilst the world celebrates with such a clamour?’ it asked in a voice like dry leaves.

The Man: ‘Because I wanted to thank you,’ he replied. ‘You seem worn out by the weight of the days.’

The Year: ‘It’s true. On my shoulders I bear the chill of your defeats and the dampness of your tears. But I also hold the gold of your laughter, the warmth of that embrace and the light of your little miracles. I am the treasure chest of everything you felt.’

The Man: “And what will happen to us now?”

The Year: “I become a root so that you may be a flower. I do not leave empty-handed: I leave you the wisdom of what you have lived through and the peace of having tried. Look ahead, for the horizon is already tinged with new beginnings.”