The End of the Year

Nothing in the movement of the earth requires closure. Nothing in the sky signals completion. Time continues without pause, without boundary, without reset. And yet, at a certain point each year, urgency appears.

Things are rushed. Accounts are settled. Promises are deferred or forced. Conversations include phrases like before the year ends or we'll deal with it next year. No one announces that this moment has arrived. No decision is made. The pressure simply asserts itself.

When the date passes, the tension dissolves. Not because anything has changed, but because the boundary has been crossed. What felt impossible days earlier becomes acceptable again. The same work continues, but under a different name.

The burden is on deviation. Treating this moment as ordinary requires explanation. Ignoring it feels negligent. Acting as if nothing special is happening is harder than complying. The end of the year is not enforced—it is assumed.