January. The first month of the year and much maligned. I was reading an article the other day but before I got to the actual topic the author was discussing, a tirade about the awfulness of January ensued. Even berating T. S. Eliot for claiming April is the cruellest month, when he felt January was the most heinous. He said it like it was a dirty word...January.
I don't feel that way about the first month. To me, January is quiet, reflective and a time for me to re-centre myself after the tumult of the holidays. It's like the stillness following a snow storm, when you pause just to listen to the silence. It's a time when I get back to my writing and reading; my craft supplies are surveyed and updated and I begin the peaceful process of regaining my flow. January is not hectic, its meandering and allows you to go at your own pace. I can sit down and write in a leisurely way and not feel like I have to fit it in.
Those who know me, are aware I have a lot of difficulty with my hands and writing has become a slow process especially when the weather is cold and damp. So I embrace January's calm which enables me to go at my own speed and enjoy my paper conversations. Letters have always been a big part of my life and as a result of my hand problems I have had to cut down, something that still gives me great sadness. It's like telling a friend you never want to speak to them again, the guilt that goes hand and hand with the process of writing a last letter to someone is boundless.
Today I'm revelling in my January state of mind and writing thank you notes, sending a postcard or two and getting my desk in order. Slow and sure wins the race.