I have come to the long-overdue conclusion that January is my least favorite month. Although I think winter can be a stunning portrait of Arctic beauty, January seems to hold some sort of malice for those who live in colder climates. Looking at the picturesque view of the snow clinging to the trees, with the backdrop of a clear blue sky, makes it slightly more bearable but with that beauty in the forefront the beast stealthily lurks in the background.
Skies become overcast and scattered patterns of flakes stipple the grey sky. They fall, lightly at first and in swirling random patterns, hypnotizing those in their path with their ethereal beauty. But the flakes are unending. They churn in the wind, they seem to multiply before they hit the ground and, as the mercury drops, they are frozen to their place. Individual patterns of snow and ice combine to create the tomb of winter.
But I retain a modicum of hope. We are one-quarter of our way through the month. The days are becoming longer and January will soon be followed by the shortest month of the year, leading us into the beginning of the month that births Spring. And with that turning of the season comes the promise of warmer days and easier nights. I look forward to the days that the air doesn’t hurt my face.