Fact: 2023 has arrived, if you subscribe to the Western, mostly Anglo-Saxon convention of measuring time.
I have the pseudo-convenience of today’s technology, in the form of cell phone, internet, WordPress, and a comfortable chair and roof over my head to convey words that may communicate the wide-ranging explorations of my mind.
I’ve been reading predictions for the coming year, during which our Earth is predicted to continue its revolution around the sun we accept as the center of a solar system that includes the earth, other planets, moons, asteroids, and debris, like human-made satellites.
But the Living Now intrudes, as Miss Tweety Pie appears at my door, threatening to poop under any future placement of my foot. I step outside to the clearing fog of the first New Year’s morning, to hear the ebullient celebrations of the Gun Clubbers down the street, blasting away at clay pigeons, in an exercise some people believe is entertaining.
Who is knowldgeable about the future, any future, as “the future” is determined moment to moment by the unpredictable Now?
Miss Tweety-Pie is now busy preening her feathers, here on this wet bench, while Speckles watches from his spot under the building.
And now, machine noise starts up on the other side of my vibe space, promising Human inventiveness thrives, so far, in 2023.
Happy 2023 from Miss Tweety-Pie.
katharineotto 
Happy 2023 to you!
Thanks, Nava. By the way, congrats on your story publication. Intend to comment on your blog, too.
Thank you!
All the best for this New Year, Katharine!
Thanks, Rosaliene. Looking forward to hearing more from you.
I predict… something will happen. I forget which culture did this. Maybe Gaul or Rome? But there was a means of divining the future by patterning the steps of chickens released from a cage. It was, I think, part of ornithomancy. Or something. Forgive me, I don’t use google much for research, so my success and failure rate in memory is usually my own responsibility.
Thanks, Seax. I wonder if there’s a system of prediction for patterns of chicken poop deposited underfoot. They seem to have a knack for it.
Yeah, probably. I believe it might be “hereisgoodenoughomancy.”
Love it. I could apply that term in many contexts.
The hen that comes outside, looks up, and then runs back inside… screaming her head off “The sky is falling, the sky is falling”, is the hen we better listen to.
~ijs