And we become older

Something fitting a new year needs to be written - a song of hope and cheerful promises. But my winter blues (or is this a mid-life crisis?) does not allow me to write such material. Instead of counting my blessings, I am counting my chickens before they are hatched.

Although I am just back from a holiday, I feel as if I need another one. A wintry cold January in Manhattan can be hard to adjust to after some sun in the Caribbean.