In probably every culture much is made of the end of the calendar year and the beginning of a new one. But we must remember that this arbitrary assignment of days, months, and years are for convenience and have no natural necessity. Only the seasons represent more faithfully the passage of time. Herewith, part of a poem by the fourteenth-century Chinese hermit Ch’ing-hung:
The year is ending
the month is ending …
the moon lights the window the same as before
only the plum blossoms are different
but who cares
the Yangtze rolls on
the sun and moon do not slow their pace
a black dragon lurks in the clouds.