A postcard from January

The end of the - seemingly - longest month has arrived.

I thought I’d share some black and white photographs with you, as we’ve had an abundance of deep snow and spiky hoar frosts. And monochrome emphasises all that contrast and texture so beautifully.

We made the most of it with walks from the house, returning to warm rooms and cosy afternoons.

Of course, it’s back to smudgy shades of khaki and brown for now. Even the fields opposite the house are scattered with manure. The tractors have been up and down relentlessly, closely followed by flocks of seagulls and murders of squawking crows.

But it’s all part of the farming year. And being in the midst of that brings us closer to the changing seasons. I like hearing the cockerel across the lane crowing all day, the sheep bleating to one another.

I worked in the bookshop yesterday, at short notice. A morning’s drifting around the house, absent-mindedly tidying up, was suddenly out the window and I had to quickly sort myself out and jump into the car. No coffee, no breakfast. I’m a creature of habit so felt like I was on the back foot for a while, but we had some lovely customers in. And it’s always gratifying when people choose titles based on your recommendations (perhaps they pick up on the enthusiasm - I love talking about books).

Next week I’ll do a Valentines Day display in the window. Lots of poetry, cards, a few props and plenty of red and pink… This is not the time for subtlety.

I’ve loved January - and that might actually be a first for me. It hasn’t felt interminable or depressing. Quite the opposite; the days have flown by. And we’ve enjoyed our new home, the gentle days and evenings.

We have our holiday to look forward to. And the garden to prepare in readiness for the warmer months - for sitting outside and reading, for drinking coffee in the mornings and eating dinner al fresco.

There may be more wintry weather to come. It’s cold enough; I wear my hat all day in the bookshop and yesterday the spare cardigan I keep in the little kitchen came into its own…

I always associate February with deluges. That’s probably due to the Sara Coleridge poem, The Garden Year, which was in one of my favourite books:

‘…February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again.’

It’s a month of slushy puddles, brooding skies and the feeling of spring being just around the corner. All through my adult life I’ve proclaimed January and February to be the months you just have to get through, somehow. But I feel differently now. Is it because time seems to have sped up - that wishing the days away is the very opposite of what I should be doing?

Perhaps it’s down to my finally appreciating them for what they are, and acting accordingly. Staying indoors, wrapping up warm if I’m heading outside. Allowing myself to feel sleepy as the light fades in the early evening.

January has been all about the magic of snow, and the joy of home comforts. It’s that simple. As most things are, when you let them be.

Thank you for reading.

Sarah.