I haven’t seen a single news bulletin or read a newspaper in a week. I’ve only turned on the TV once. I’ve hardly even been out of the house. For all I know, World War VI could have broken out — we’re up to number six, aren’t we? Or an alien virus could have decimated the population.
Or John Howard could have finally dropped the veil, so to speak, and openly started rounding up the Muslims and everyone else who can’t play cricket and shipping them to Nauru.
And you know what? I simply couldn’t care less.
Because in the quiet of this first “work” day after New Year’s Day, while the rest of the city is still sleeping off a long weekend binge, it’s gently raining.
The beautiful sound of raindrops on the garden is punctuated only by the occasional squawk of a lorikeet making a quick dash back to its tree. In the soft, grey light, the freshly rain-washed flowers and leaves of the garden glisten.
It’s a special quiet moment of solitude before the world really starts its new year. And it’s very, very beautiful.
Happy New Year.