Things I will do in 2025: there are some things I will change next year, but not much Here is a story told by the archivist.

The Year of the Cove

It was the Earth year 2024, and all had gone well that year. Somehow, against the odds and amidst the chaos of a turbulent world, life had settled into a rhythm I hadn’t thought possible. There were moments of clarity, of connection, of peace—fleeting, perhaps, but real.

And so, as December turned to January, I found myself standing under a sky ablaze with fireworks, celebrating New Year with Carla in Marshall Cove.

Marshall Cove wasn’t just a place; it was a sanctuary. Nestled between rolling cliffs and endless waves, it felt untouched by time. The air there always carried a hint of salt and cedar, mingling with the earthy aroma of driftwood fires that dotted the beach. Carla and I had stumbled upon the cove during one of our many aimless road trips years ago. Back then, it was just a hidden spot to share secrets and dreams. Now, it had become a ritual—a place where we marked the turning of time together.

That night, the cove was alive. Families huddled in blankets, children darted about with sparklers, and the distant hum of a local band played songs no one could quite remember but everyone loved. Carla stood beside me, her laughter carried by the wind as we watched a group of teenagers attempt to light a paper lantern.

“You think it’ll fly?” she asked, her breath visible in the crisp winter air.

“Not a chance,” I said, grinning as the lantern wobbled uncertainly before collapsing into the sand.

She nudged me playfully. “You’re such a pessimist.”

“Realist,” I corrected, but the teasing warmth in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t buying it.

As midnight neared, the crowd gathered closer to the shore. The fireworks display had begun—bursts of color painting the sky, their reflections dancing on the waves. Carla leaned her head on my shoulder, and I felt the weight of the year melt away.

“It’s been a good one,” she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the sound of the waves.

“It has,” I agreed. “What’s been your favorite part?”

She tilted her head, thinking. “Honestly? This. Right now. It’s not often you get to feel… this free. Like the world isn’t rushing you, you know?”

I knew exactly what she meant. In the cove, time seemed to stretch and bend. There were no deadlines, no noise—just the pulse of the ocean and the shared heartbeat of everyone who came to watch it.

Midnight struck, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Carla turned to me, her face illuminated by the golden glow of the final firework. “Happy New Year,” she said, her voice filled with a hope that felt contagious.

“Happy New Year,” I echoed, and for the first time in a long time, I truly meant it.

As the celebration wound down, we stayed on the beach long after most had left. The fire had burned low, the sky now a tapestry of stars. Carla traced patterns in the sand with a stick, her thoughts somewhere far away.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

“Next year,” she said, smiling faintly. “About how we’ll be back here again, older but maybe a little wiser. And how the cove will be waiting for us, just like always.”

I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help but hope she was right. Because in that moment, with the waves lapping at the shore and Carla by my side, it felt like Marshall Cove held all the magic I’d ever need.

And maybe, just maybe, it always would.

What do you think?