For me, January is the slowest month. It has an honesty and effortlessness to it after the frivolities and chaos of December. Each day is fleeting, holding within it the briefest of moments, which fall untarnished and remain unmarked as the sun fades and time disappears into nothingness.  Despite the shorter days, I feel as though I have all the time in the world. There is nothing pressing to do and very little to occupy my mind. It's too early for my seedlings to appear or to start the ritual of spring cleaning the house and it's too late to worry about the things that I didn't achieve last year. The mistakes I had previously made and the worries that I had carried with me were put to bed as I turned over the page of my new calendar.

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