‘Tis bitter-sweet, when winter nights are long,
To watch, beside the flames which smoke and twist,
The distant memories which slowly throng,
Brought by the chime soft-singing through the mist.
– Charles Baudelaire, translated by Jack Collings Squire

Time to throw it all on the pile: the past year’s hardships, inadequacies, misgivings. The brightly-wrapped expectations and the dull cardboard that our dreams came packaged in. Thwarted desires, grief that outlasted its purpose. Lost objects that resurfaced too late, ghosts of squandered opportunities. Poor judgment. Obligation. Waste.

We’re burning them as fuel to propel us toward the future, a merry glow in the wilderness of Still Trying.

Let it all burn: woodsmoke, burning paper, pink and black peppercorn, and resin tears.