Every moment of the year gets a bird, and somehow there are always enough to go around.
The positive things caught in the purple birds.
Negatives in the red.
Twittering and sparkling.
People call some years purple years or bemoan the accumulation of so many unexpected red birds, but the hidden truth is that the polarity of each moment does not matter, not once they have reached their respective birds.
They all sparkle. They all sing.
For a moment here at the end of the year we gather all the bird-moments and put them on display, the red and the purple and the ones that shimmer somewhere in between.
We consider them, look them over, weigh the year in glitter and feathers and loses and gains.
Then we let them all fly away.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.