Best of. Top Ten. Top Five. Year's Most. All ways of attaching meaning to the previous 365 days. A year's a bestiary. Fierce creatures and benign, some of which cast long shadows, some of which are too small for even the Sun to notice. Better still: a year is a packed subway train, hurtling towards that final destination. Days are passengers, all different, some in shorts and flipflops, some wearing business suits, each to their own. Sure, there's a few that link together, like conjoined twins or The Human Centipede. But to make sense of a year, to say that it was "good" or "bad"? Might as well say the same thing about the earth, or the Universe.
So. Imagery. This is what we get during these waning days. And isn't it true that The Year In Pictures is the slideshow at a wake? Dead people. Wreckage. Rubble. Cleanup. We mourn the passengers that got kicked off the train, even the ones we didn't like, because in the end they're all we've got. We bid a relieved farewell to the train itself and hop on the next one. Same line, different number. Maybe the new train will be a bit nicer - cushioned seats? Air conditioning? All well and good, but the passengers make the ride.
Eh. I'm getting lost in my own metaphor. Me, I'm pretty much over 2010. I was looking for a picture that best summed up 2010, and how I feel about 2010's passing. I think I found one. It's after The Jump. Happy New Year, and I'll see you on the other side.
