A year of corrections. Big and little, public and private. The last few days and weeks, especially, it has felt like a year of old faces and places. Folks I hadn’t seen in too long, all around me and all at once, by purpose and by accident.

In the weeks and months prior, a steady rhythm of changes, many of the sort that are quiet but feel momentous. I came home to Carrboro. Saw old friends more often. Published a new story. Started a new garden and settled into familiar patterns. Every year feels like a milestone, in retrospect, but this one felt like progress.

In the new year, I hope: more old faces, and more new ones. More stories and more gardens. More corrections, more mistakes. Friends, good books, warmths. And the same for you.