January light brings clarity, a sweetness.
There’s a calmness.
For me, it’s about the stillness. The slow down. The reset.
Declarations made, intentions set,
I start each day seeking to let go.
To savor. To remain.
Let go of what? Everything.
Savor what? All of it.
Remain how? True to myself.
My feelings about aging, whole chunks of time passing. The heaviness of uncontrollable things, and things that control me.
The bags of darkness I drag around, the cloud that sits wherever I put it. On my lap. Perched upon my shoulders. Inside my scribble-scrabble head. The ones that hold me down. And back. And away.
January light keeps them, all those dark things, at bay.
Can’t change people. Can’t change the world.
But I can certainly change myself, my own.
What I say. What I give. How I am.
January light opens me, inspires me, and I lift my arms wide,
though the green blades and buds and abundant branches, teeming with life, hide.
January light covers me. I birthed a whole human being in January once. A good one, an earnest, honest one. He and I set sail and ventured on, through something new. I rose from the dead. We all do.
When January light comes calling, I listen. I feel it. I let it envelope me like peace after war.
This part of the year is an open door.
It’s when most of the magic happens.
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