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.

Looking Back

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.

2016-stats

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

Looking Forward

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.

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