The Cruelest Month

April is the cruellest month, breeding/Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with spring rain

T.S. Eliot. The Wasteland. 1922. First published in The Criterion in the UK and in The Dial in the US.

I, too, will show you fear in handful of dust.

But, not in April

In this, January, the cruelest month of all

We start out so hopeful

January 1

With its Hoppin’ John, collards, Bloody Marys, and 364 days to look forward to in the year

The Natty soon after

Then, the long slog til the 31st

But we muddle through

Seasonal affective disorders

Vitamin D deficiencies

Soups

Stews

Freezes

Hard freezes

Moving plants in

Moving plants out

Basketball season

Depression

Need for light early in the day

The joy of the Christmas season fading in Epiphany

The oncoming days of Lenten disciplines

All through January

Moving at a geological pace

Dropped resolutions

Dry January

Get back to the gym

Gonna drop 15 lbs

New Year, New You

Whatever that is supposed to mean

But, I love it

All of January’s calm, quiet, hibernating qualities

I love the cold

To paraphrase Ludwig Bemelmans, “[H]e loved winter, snow and ice”

From Madeline, Ludwig Bemelmans, Viking Press, 1939

I love pulling out the sweaters, the coats, the hats, the flannel

I love curling up at night in front of some binge worthy show

I love going to bed early

I love the recharging of January

I love her, two-faced god that she may be

Epiphany season

A time for revelation, stock taking, evaluating

While huddled under a blanket

While reading

While sleeping through what are truly long winter naps

While being grateful for not having to attend events, to make the small talk

While catching up on those tasks put off until after the holidays

Only one day to go, kids

Only one to go