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| Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash |
January. It was all things. And it was one thing, like a solid door. Its cold sealed the city in a gray capsule. January was moments, and January was a year.
January rained the moments down, and froze them in her memory:...
Every human action seemed to yield a magic. January was a two-faced month, jangling like jester's bells, crackling like snow crust, pure as any beginning, grim as an old man, mysteriously familiar yet unknown, like a word one can almost but not quite define.
~ Patricia Highsmith
from The Price of Salt