January is my least favorite month.
Here in southwestern Virginia, it is a cold time of year. Nothing is green. The ground is barren, the grass not yet growing. The trees stand naked against cloudy skies - or as dark protrusions against a bright blue sky on cloudless days.
The chill goes into the bones, leaving me huddled in blankets and sweaters. The humidifiers run day and night to keep the air moist so my asthma stays in check. It is a constant struggle to keep the humidity just right - too much, and I worry about mold. Too little, and the air is too dry. Dryness brings about colds and other ills. It is also not good for the wood furniture, or the hardwood flooring.
The winds howl too, in January. They sounds like rabid coon dogs baying at terrified rabbits as the gusts bluster up to 40 or 50 mph, rounding the corners of my house, making a wail that would frighten the church out of a priest.
Sometimes, the winds keep me up at night, the gusts blowing strong against the siding. It is worse now since we had to remove the blue spruces, all dead or dying from some fungus created by a drought a few years ago.
We need to plant more trees. But who thinks of planting in the dead of winter, when the forecast calls for snow or ice, and the bitterness is enough to freeze the snot up inside of your nose?
This is also my month for the blues. I cannot recall a January when that particular darkness did not come creeping forth to haunt me during this languid, frigid month. It moves along the pathways of my mind like a spider, leaving webs of despair and dismay behind. I sweep, I clean, I wash, but that spider is quicker than I, I cannot outrun its filmy traces, the dust it collects, or the remove the clingy mess from my mind.
Sunshine helps, and that doesn't come until mid-February, when I see green shoots rising from the ground, a tinge of color on the weeping willow trees, the robins suddenly landing in the front yard. The spider runs from the birds, then, still leaving a webby trail, but disappearing until I sense it no longer.
Or at least, sense it not so much in the highlights of my thoughts.
January was so hard on me when I lived in Montana and Alaska. Especially Alaska. It's hard to get through those long, dark days. I hear you.
ReplyDeleteI'm truly convinced now that I would be quite miserable living anywhere but where I am during the winter. Your descriptions are poetry, Anita. Brrrrr.
ReplyDeleteThe January bitter cold in Northern Maine is tiring. But February is the longest month.
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