Ihave always been impressed with the magic of the New Year. Let us, for the sake of this discourse not necessarily concern ourselves with the specific date, for there is more than one idea of when the New Year begins and, indeed, this is part of the astonishment of it all.

Every person, no matter how cynical otherwise, accepts completely the very mystery I am about to propound: it is a matter of the most whimsical faith that dictates that a specific date, hour, minute and countdown second in each time zone begins a new year — and we believe.

This is no small thing, for the New Year’s beginning signifies in so many ways, from the most sentimental and/or spiritual to the most pragmatic, the start and renewal of so much. Many people look on it as a whole new life, certainly a new run at things: “This year will be better.”

The entire business of resolutions which kick off the New Year is a firm illustration of how important the theory of the New Year is to, really, everyone. We use it as a linchpin for reassessing our lives, frequently with a view to do things differently, or better, or with more enthusiasm.

And we never question the timing. December 31, three, two one: midnight! Pop the champagne. It is a philosophical miracle.

But before we write off this year, I want to take you back, for a moment, to Christmas Eve.

Every day of my life, regardless of what else happens, I go, twice a day, to my barn, which is not on my property, to tend to my horses. The fabulous Patrick, now my equine partner for these past 26 years, our Welsh-Arab pony, Windsor, our two Arabians, Tony and Donny, and Toby, the Shetland pony, are all in my tender care.

Why we have so many equines is another matter, which doesn’t matter for the moment.

Christmas Eve, then.

The dinner was in the oven. My family — Colin, my husband and my daughter, Patricia — and I had been for our annual Christmas Eve charge-around in Chinatown in Toronto and had brought goodies back with us. Colin and Patricia were at home, organizing themselves, with wrapping parcels and setting the table, while I went to do the evening chores.

If we have cleaned the stalls in the morning, as we had that day, these consist of feeding the horses, the barn cat and the ducks, checking the water, laying down straw for Patrick and Donny (the others have shavings) and putting Patrick’s blanket on him. He is 31 years old and I tend to baby him.

There is a radio of sorts in the barn, which I plugged in as I came in. We keep it tuned to the CBC Radio One, on which there was, predictably, a delightful program of a musical mix that was fitted to the moment. There is always an air of peacefulness in the barn. It is a very spiritual place for me, but on Christmas Eve, it was even more reassuring.

Somehow, all the animals were very calm. There is a kind of dance that we do, where they each walk into their respective stalls; it is so thoroughly their routine, that there is rarely any fuss. Even so, that evening they were all more relaxed than usual.

I put down hay for each of them and listened to them as they began to munch on the blades of grass. Cutting the carrots, dishing out their feed: oats and sweet feed for Patrick, corn and beet pulp for the others, beet pulp only for Toby, while hearing to some of the best music Christmas has produced, I began to feel the full joy of the season.

Christmas Eve in a stable. I gave them all their meals, topped up the water as needed.

Then I took flakes of straw and shook them, separating the straw to make a bed for Patrick. I paused in my work and took it all in.

The light dug into the gold of the straw. The animal smell, the heady total of barn smells, the movement of large bodies, their contentment with their lot as they pushed their noses into their food — I stood quite still and very quiet to absorb the moment.

The pictures of another stable at another time filled my mind and overwhelmed me in a very real sense. It was like a wonderful gift — it was marvellous.

Meanwhile, when it comes, at precisely midnight, Dec.31: a very Happy New Year to all of you.