It was a month of snow angels and outdoor picnics, getting things done and doing absolutely nothing, taking care of business and escaping into books. Red was the flavor, and quiet was the color. It was a month of letting life flow at its own pace, I didn’t fight any of it, never once did I swim against the current, I just let it carry me wherever it was headed. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that, and it was good.
January was a month of settling in, to life at 50, to life in 2013, to life in a world we have yet to catch up with.
Soon, I suppose, busy will be stopping by for a visit, she never likes to stay away for long. I’ll make her some tea and we’ll sit for a chat and she’ll mention that she’s planning to stay for a spell. I won’t be surprised or upset, I will simply say yes and turn away to bake her some cookies. Snickerdoodles, in fact. Because you can’t say snickerdoodles without smiling, and besides, they are delicious.
But I can’t help but wish that January could stay just a little bit longer, so I could sit here and stare out this window at the birds, at all the wonder, at the dancing snowflakes that have just started to fall from the sky, despite the fact that just yesterday, the temperature peaked at 65.
I hear February tapping on the glass, too short to be seen, but just tall enough to reach a bony finger up and make her presence known. She likes to be all dark in her grey robes and bitter nights, but it’s hard to take someone so small very seriously. Still, I will sit with her tomorrow, build her a fire and bring her some flowers, just because she is here.
And I won’t tell her how much I miss January, for it would never do to make her jealous.
She has quite the temper, that one, don’t be fooled by the hearts and the chocolates.
But don’t worry, either, for she is no match for March and its promises of flowers.