January

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