New Year's Eve ...

I cast my plan to the wind.

It was a small plan, not much of a plan at all. But when it came time, I knew it wasn't right.

So I sat. And I thought. And then I went to the store.

And I found a lovely pear, tucked among the other pears. Just right, just ripe.

And I wandered among the cheeses and decided on brie.

And I came home and settled in for the night.

I built a board of pear and brie and walnuts that I'd toasted.

And I opened the Champagne I'd bought earlier in the day. (Which is really not Champagne, being domestic, but Champagne is lovely to say.)

And I filled a flute and let the eager effervescence subside and filled it more.

And I choose a cloth napkin.

"I love my life," I said, surveying my picnic.

And I tucked myself onto the sofa. (I spend every New Year's Eve with a certain auteur.)

And I fell under the spell of "Midnight in Paris," which I'd not yet seen, and more happily, about which nothing was known.

And I poured another glass. And enjoyed two of what I'd baked earlier in the day.

And I poured another glass. And remembered my favorite chocolate.

And now my house is quiet and warm and I am just a bit sleepy.

And so I shall go to bed.

And wake to a new year.