Isn’t that a delightful phrase?
The Twelvemonth refers to one year in a way that gives substance and dignity to the time passed.
When I teach music, I refer to places where both hands play the same note at the same time as a road marker. To be thoroughly Canadian about it I use the word Inukshuk, which is the Inuit journey marker in the high Arctic.
A year is made of the twelve months between two time references that can be called “Time Inukshuk.” We base our decades and centuries and even millennia on January 1 to January 1.
We measure our lives in anniversaries between Time Inukshuk. My life is measured between them in August, my marriage, in December.
I have now suffered two griefs in this twelvemonth. My mother died on December 17th and the date looms large on my Arctic horizon. My father-in-law died on November 30th, last week, and that Inukshuk is raw and untried.
The foundations of life have been shaken now twice. Life is more precious. Time has more dignity. But I can’t tell you anything more about the journey just yet.