It was a year of scenes more than people, ones that now feel still. The times I had to simply walk around and be were far and few between. Looking at these now, I remember each day; some shared with others, most on my own. And despite the few personal trips here and there, most were from Salem.
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice. – T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
Here’s to another year … and a continuation of our voices.
