As 2016 draws to a close, I have decided to review the year that is almost ended and look forward to the year that is almost here.
2016 has been a year of progress for Thousand Mile Walk. We’ve seen a steady rise in viewers, visitors, and followers since we began writing in 2013. Now, 418 intrepid people follow TMW via email, WordPress, or Facebook.
This year, TMW has also been setting new records. Our post count has reached 217. We have welcomed our first guest author, Caroline Bennett. On November 29th, we set a new “Best Views Ever” at 125 views, and the total views since TMW’s inception has hit 24,989.
A “Most” List for 2016
Most popular day: Tuesday
Most popular topic: Essay
Most popular tag: “Poe”
Most popular month: November (1,366 views)
Most popular post from 2016: Physical Therapy
Most popular post of all: “Ulysses” and “The Lotos Eaters”: Contrasting Perspectives on Life from Lord Alfred Tennyson
This is where most people would list their resolutions for the New Year, but I am not that type of person because I think it’s unwise to publish super ambitious goals. In lieu of grand goals, we TMWers plan to carry on as we have been: writing, learning, and sharing our work. And who knows? We may have some surprises for you this year. 🙂
As we continue taking small steps in our writing journey, we hope that you will accompany us, and we look forward to hearing from you.
The following is a poem that I love and find particularly fitting at this time of year. I hope you enjoy it. Happy New Year!
“The Darkling Thrush” by Thomas Hardy
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.