January is the longest month.
It falls immediately after Christmas, a month too short for its own good. Transitioning into the new year seems to take a lot of time. You linger around for a week or so before going back to work or school, and in those days it’s hard to know exactly what to do with yourself. The decorations are gone, there are no more parties to host, nothing to shop for. You simply settle back into routine like a leaf long blown by the wind falling into the eddies of a stream.
And then you drift.
While October and November burst with crispness and color, and December bounds through merrily, bells jingling, January comes and takes up residence in your living room, all wrapped in grey, not saying a word. January brings rains without snow. January tells you how many visits to the gym it will take to get in shape. January is fond of reminding you how long you have to wait until Christmas comes again.
January takes forever to leave.
But then comes February, so often mispronounced, his eyes twinkling mischievously, his pockets full of snowflakes and candy hearts. He knows that spring is chasing his heels, and while he belongs to winter, his heart is in the spring. He’ll be gone before you know it, so don’t blink, or you’ll miss him.