Happy New Year 2016 to 2017.
There’s something quietly satisfying about lining up a year’s worth of small moments and seeing what rises to the surface. This little grid feels like a handful of snapshots pulled from pockets and desk drawers: a plate of sushi, a bowl of something warm and green, a clean martini with a twist, a bottle poured out into amber light.
There’s winter in it too—snow coming down hard enough to soften the edges of everything, a window half-fogged with cold, the world outside turning pale and hushed. Even the bright blue structure overhead feels like a year’s ambition captured from below: steel and sky, a sense of being on your way somewhere.
Then the year’s ordinary neon: a burger sign glowing in the dark, the kind of light that makes you feel briefly awake and wandering. And tucked among the food and weather, a small, playful figure at a kitchen table—proof that the year wasn’t only about going places, but also about being inside, staying still, letting the days happen.
I like that these moments don’t try to summarize everything. They just sit there, settled. Not cluttered. Not sterile. A few warm lights, a few cold mornings, and the sense that one world is always pushing gently up against another.
Here’s to 2017—whatever it becomes.
