January

People are very hard on the month of January. Not hard to see why – after a spendfest at Christmas, all the fun and frolics of the party season over, bills whistling through the door with the tail end of storms passing over from the Atlantic, and darkness making it harder than ever to divorce the duvet of a morning.

What’s this ? Despite steadfast neglect all winter, last year’s tulips are pushing up in the patio pots; I thought the bulbs would have rotted for sure in the recent deluges of rain.The miners – hardy souls out running in the early morning streets  in hi-viz jackets with lamps strapped around their sweaty brows- are defying research that says two weeks is the maximum amount of time that anyone sticks to New Year’s resolutions.

Suddenly I am getting off the couch, putting on the trainers, calling hard to my inner Grit Doctor for support, and heading out the door. It’s a beautiful afternoon, Lough Derg is like blue silk shadowed into navy in places, the cloister shape of the bridge between Ballina and Killaloe frames the view from the point at the coastguard station. The luxury of time is mine ; perhaps the greatest gift that retirement has so far given me.

January may begin with a touch of SADS, a patch of dark blue that’s perfect for hibernation, rest and even restoration. By this time however we can feel the start of the turn of the year; the sweep of Bridget’s healing cloak may bring us a few stormy nights before her imminent feast day, but I celebrate January, the month of my own birth, the start of our new year, the beginning of yet another journey.