Reflections of Lamps

2012 begins to fold in on itself, close down, file things away from 'this year' into 'the past', gets ready for tomorrow night, not for death though - years don't die. They fade and flicker and haunt, they inhabit some distant country of nostalgia and yearning we always try to get back to (even though we've never been there, not really), but they don't die.
Time is conterminous. Lasts forever, even if we don't. 2012 will outlast us all.
It will slip away from us though, and that sad melancholic year 2012 will not belong to us any more.
Em came round earlier. There had been plans for a walk, but this is her first day off since we got back from Worcestershire, and she is now asleep on my bed, dreams in the grey shadows of my sunless room. Andy has gone back out to Tescos to get something for dinner. he went to the Homebase on the Old Shoreham Road earlier on, bought a tropical looking plant, with a braided stem. It looks like a palm tree. I can see it out of the corner of my eye, hidden behind the human size gollywog, and next to the other plant on the dark table that no-one uses except to dump stuff on.
Watch the lamps across the mews swing in the breeze. Haven't come on yet, though there is about the light a certain twilight air. The sky is grey, light faltering to nightfall. There redlections in the glass of the window of the living room lamps. In one of the windows opposite, I see a reflection of a lamp in an adjoining house. Reflection of reflections. An infinity of lamps.
The air outside is looks heavy with a cold refreshing greyness.
Welcome to January, just around the corner. Just coming home.
2013 beginning to unfold itself, and each present moment beginning to slip further away.