Time, an unusual ghost - what a little boy taught me about the year ahead.

River Bennett (Photgraphy River Bennett)

I chased him all the way up the beach. His little face beamed as he turned his head back in my direction.  Alert with excitement and adrenaline that I may just possibly catch him.  His feet pelted down on the sand as I took a snap shot. A photograph in my mind. His face, his laughter, his pace. His long, blonde, salty hair streaking across his face as the waves thundered beside me. My heart was full, and I was in love with a little boy who had captured my heart the moment he had been born.

Of course I let him win. Of course I picked him up in my arms at the end and told him he was SO fast and how I loved him SO much. 

That snap shot. That moment in time. Locked up in my head and now locked onto paper as I write. 

Time is such a unusual ghost. It hovers over life and snatches it away when we aren't looking. 

We panic to know as our skin ages and our bodies change. Did we make every day did count? Did we live for what really mattered?

Our calendar filled our lives with events and daily rituals. We cared about presentations and deadlines, we built a world, at times an empire, around us. We woke with adrenaline, and went to bed anxious. It's a lovely theory - to make everyday count. But did we? 

What lies before us in 2015 is empty space. An empty crate waiting to be filled and sent on it's new adventure. What will we fill it with? What will we take? What matters? What snap shots will we stuff into the void of the year ahead? 

As I tucked him into bed that night, kissed his little face and whispered in his ear,  "You were SO fast today. I love to chase you. I love you little boy. You make me so happy." 

Out of all the snapshots of 2014, which are all now important memories of the past, chasing my little boy was my favourite and it made that year count. It made it what it should be.

Happy new year everyone.