That cusp . . .

. . . between one year and the next

The Christmas cactus bloomed right on schedule this year, and then later, during the 12 days of Christmas, the snow fell all soft and fluffy. It’s the cusp time, when thoughts turn to the ambitions for the year ahead, after the reflections on the past one have been consolidated.

I’ve written my first poem of 2022, in response to the ekphrastic stimulus at for the new month. I like the monthly challenge, as I can feel my mind probing parts it hasn’t ventured into, but my family, too late, apprised me of a better way to describe finger nail polish that’s meant only to hide stains. I’d already sent my effort off, so probably the editors will not understand my first stanza. Never mind, I’ve fixed it for my own purposes.

Similarly, the daily Wordle challenge has got our whole family involved, as everyone tries to bring out the matching five letter word within the first two guesses. I average usually three or four attempts, but this morning it took me five. Too many more of these sorts of challenges and I shall be able to avoid my writing routine entirely!

But no, my set task is a morning of writing, and I shall hope to be concentrating, throughout the first half of this year, on Biome NE47: Sequel, which now has a working title of ‘Daughters of Eden.’ Having finished the first quarter, breaching 25k words, I’m ready to embark on the middle section, Act II, in which the characters face their challenges.

And then, for good feedback and comparison purposes, the weekly tasks set for our Writing Group in the new term will also be energising, but by the time they start, I shall expect to be motoring along following the lives of Evelyn, Constance and Abigail.

So it’s not only a calendar cusp, but also a novelistic one. Underneath about four inches of snow, it should be a good occupation in our warm and cosy porch, while I muse about tidying the little office/studio and let my mind wander where it will go.

By Larry Winger

Retired scientist, devoted diarist (, community-minded aspirant novelist, I've lived on a smallholding in the East Allen Valley for the past 30 years, delighting in watching our family grow up, in experiencing the development of our grandsons, and in taking care of our small flock of chickens and garden.

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