New Year's Day in Wales, windy and wet, a day to stay indoors. The wind howls like the dog who bit me last night. He's beginning to loosen his grip now and the beer I am slowly sipping is flattening his hair.
I set my rocket soaring into the sky after midnight, green and blue to mark the passing of another year and not a bad one. The wind was so strong it blew my rocket over four or five times, but I got there in the end. Whooosh as my message was flown into the night sky.
Sometimes it's a lantern or a small fire, turning the flames blue with salt. Once I walked to the standing stone and listened to it hum. Another time I stood and watched until a shooting star flew over my head, just catching it from the corner of my eye. Some years I walk to the bridge and drop the message into the dark stream below.
Just another of my rituals, seeing the early New Year in alone with my New Year's Eve madness, then in to drink liquid fire until I fall asleep.
What do my messages say? Ah, that would be telling. But I'd rather dance to a tune of my own making after the songs have been sung and the bells are chimed out.
Yes, the New Year has started.