New Year

Sheltering fireside, a glass (one of several) of Portuguese red soothing my soul, reflecting on the first full week (and a bit) of the new year, Storm Goretti rages the other side of the window. Like many a named storm its bark turns out to be worse than its bite in this corner of England and the forecast weather bomb turns out to be no worse than a damp and windy wintery evening. Time to pour another glass and throw another log on the fire.

January has reminded us recently of real winter, surprising us with ice and snow, a frosty hint of the season’s bite just as we had almost forgotten cold weather ever existed. December mornings passed mildly, filled with unseasonal birdsong and postmen in shorts. It’s a relief to feel the real turn of the seasons, dig out the woolly sweaters and embrace the cold. January has much to offer.

The The festive season is thankfully over; this year was especially traumatic with illness rife amongst the more vulnerable members of the family. In-between hospital appointments and medical emergencies nature has provided some solace; a daily walk on frozen ground, a magnificent shaggy ink cap un-seasonally proud at the edge of a path, the Scrooge like hunch of a grey heron at the lake’s edge and the nightly murmuration of starlings, thousands of swirling dark birds holding a constellation of stars within the dark night of their feathers.

The sun has been bright and low, reflecting off the frozen ground of our morning walks, deer and squirrel prints hinting at other passengers passing on the leafy highway. Along the river, smoke spirals lazily from the off-grid community of canal boats and caravans, the Wolf Moon echoes in the stillness of the water. Ice in puzzle pieces stretches across the lake and the dried heads of wild carrot bear a crocheted trim of ice. We discover new ways, suddenly clear now the leaves have dropped and the joy of escaping the house sparks ideas of new adventures, plans developing further as we sit huddled in blankets by the fire on our return.

The lake freezes and my weekly swim is cancelled, two weeks now and the disappointment hits hard. The adrenaline and fear of slipping into the freezing depths as well as the after-glow camaraderie of sipping hot chocolate in a muddy field in nothing more than a dry robe and bobble hat is my own personal safety net, a way to cope with the madness of the world.

The light is beautiful this early in the year and I consciously make the effort to stop and notice; the pastel hues of grey, pink and blue smudging into earthy brown; skies heavy with snow; fire streaked mornings. The early sun catches the ugly new town on the hill turning it into a shimmering golden city of light and my heart skips a bit as my imagination runs amok. Escapism from the realities of responsibility.

January is often overlooked stuck between the glittery festivity of Christmas and the rush towards the fun of summer but its icy quietness provides a month of mindfulness, a chance to rest and recover. For my busy mind to settle on nothing more than the flickering glow of the fireside as the year slips slowly into first gear.