January

I roll out of bed each morning feeling as stiff-limbed as the trees outside my window. Each time we leave the house, gloves and hats are pulled on, scarves tied, jackets zipped to the collar, boots considered.

Walking the children to the school bus stop in the glow of streetlamps, the world is robed in frost. The fallen leaves glitter in jeweled sweaters, the evergreens wear veils of white, our breath rises in puffs of chiffon. The Christmas trees wait at the curb for redemption. The holiday decorations and cheer have been reluctantly packed away. The landscape is dimmed, frozen and still.

The damp cold slithers between all our layers and squeezes our muscles into knots. A touch of rain, a bit of wind, chills us to the bones. When the day brings sunshine, it’s as thin and comfortless as watered-down soup, but the sky’s stunning blue keeps us looking up.

These days, the kettle hums all day, serving cup after cup of tea. We pass the hand cream and the lip balm and linger longer than necessary in hot steamy showers. At the end of the day, we retreat into books or curl up under blankets and watch movies, tucked snug under the eaves of the attic. The fireplace is a magnet that draws us all together on the big red sofa.

In the kitchen, holiday goodies have been replaced by fruits, nuts, and fresh vegetables. We are all out of excuses. We steel ourselves to brave the elements and resolve to walk, bike, and hike in the brisk air. We purge our cabinets, closets, and hearts of the useless, outgrown, and unhealthy. We box and bag the clutter of our lives and send it out the door. We breathe a little easier. We try to be kinder to ourselves and others and understand there is some junk we can’t let go of—yet.

Renewal lies unseen behind the cold and colorless veneer of January. The calendar promises longer days but the days seem shrunken and old. Inside their dried and withered exteriors are the seeds of new beginnings. Each tiny step in the right direction reminds us that the sun is getting closer, the days are getting longer. If we bide our time and keep seeking the light, we will grow, we will bloom, we’ll be a bright spot in the garden of our lives.

© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

January 9, 2006

Comments

[TB]

Sigh. Yes, yes and yes. So evokative and poignant and exactly how January makes me feel.

[Brooke]

SOOO lovely. But then again, I would expect nothing less. (And hey! I'm in your blog list...yay!)

[Denice]

Veronica, the way you write this I can feel the cold air on my face. I love the cold. I am glad the days are getting longer, as I miss the sun.

[Flubberwinkle]

Prose poetry.