Sunday 29 December 2013

Oh, January, January.

Even though you're not even here yet
I am.

I am in January.

Each year, my sievelike memory forgets just how much I adore you. Your long light.  Your slowdown.  The lens shifts in January and the world around me, in the depths of a southern hemisphere summer, slows down to MY speed.

January.  Where you do two things in a day and that is perfectly acceptable.

January.  Where the creativity flourishes with the stretch.

Thank you.

You know, many count you as the beginning of the year but I'm not so sure those Julians or Gregorians or whoever it was had it right.  January doesn't feel like an appropriate beginning of a year for me any more than July would.  If I had to choose the beginning of a new year (whatever that means, which really isn't a lot to me to be honest) then I would choose one of the equinoxes.  Balance.  Each side of the earth in a beautiful balance of spring and autumn.  Not now.  Not January.

January is no time for backwards and forwards looking, for resolutions.  January is just no time.  Full stop.  Nothing coming after that.  End of long delicious sentence.

January is no time, and a crappy song by that band from the 70's.  January, January.  I simply can't count the number of ways I love you.  Thank you for being the one time of year where the lens is clear for those of us who are speedy snails.   You allow me to rest in my chronically ill unproductivity while my intellect has the opportunity to go wondering and wandering (at least, it's starting to now, now that the evil Bastard of Sinusitis has fled once more).

And that means in January, I am rich even beyond Rothschildian standards.  Rich with light and rich with time and space.

What more could you ask for?


  1. Ahh memories. Pilot ;)

    Beautiful ode to your favourite month Sue. I really like that you have such a love for the soon-to-be January.
    My favourite is May - as summer begins to fade, and the world around me softens and slows for hibernation. The delicious filtered atmosphere, and the russet reds of gracious trees.

    I agree, an equinox would be a perfect New Year. When day and night share the same dark and light, and we say farewell to one, as we welcome the other. Perfect balance.

    Now, sing along with me ...sun, like a fiyah.....

    1. [Background singer echo] - "Fiyah ..."

      That's right, isn't it? I'd go and check on YouTube but I know how earworms work and I don't want that gooberly song in my head.

      Oh, damn, what am I talking about? It's already in there. I can hear the guitar bit, and the lyric that I don't know what he says, and the crappy chorus. I really don't like that song very much but I've enjoyed singing it with you :)

      Ooh, May. Russet reds of gracious trees - yes, lovely. I must say, living up here winter has been easier even though it's 3 degrees cooler than down on the "flatlands", because it's just so much more atmospheric. But still, I get a bit scared of winter and so May for me always has a slight amount of trepidation attached. But yes, the slowdown is sort of the same as it feels now in January.

  2. What good vibes I get from this eulogy. Though it's winter here, the air's crisp, bright and fresh this morning, after the first real frost of the season. I could almost eulogise:)

    1. Mmm, lovely crisp winter air and frost. There's a charm in winter, though it's harder to handle in some ways than summer ... well, for some of us, anyway. I know people for whom winter is their favourite season. Sounds like it's maybe not yours but you're appreciating the beautiful parts of it anyway, Harry?

  3. Oh, Sue, this is lovely - sorry I missed it the day it was posted. Bless you, and a Happy New Year too!

    1. Bless you and a Happy New Year right back atchya, Mike.


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