Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I am the New Year. I am unused, unspotted, without blemish. I stretch before you three hundred and sixty-five days long. I will present each day in its turn, a new leaf in the Book of Life, for you to place upon it your imprint.
It remains for you to make of it what you will; if you write with firm, steady strokes, my pages will be a joy to look upon when the next New Year comes. If the pen falters, if uncertainty or doubt should mar the page, it will become a day to remember with pain.
I am the New Year. Each hour of the three hundred and sixty-five days, I will give you sixty minutes that have never known the use of man. White and pure, I present them; it remains for you to fill them with the sixty jeweled seconds of love, hope, endeavor, and patience.
I am the New Year. I am here – but once past, I can never be recalled. Make me your best.