the nature of january is cold, raw,
it’s bottoming out,
the point of nothingness,
dare we say hopeless,
when there’s nothing left to hold onto but the skeletal remains of what’s eating away at us.
4:30 pm, January 6. The sun falls fast these days. Late afternoon, it’s almost done for the day.
Still, the sun catches the tops of those tall trees. The trees of its choosing. For twenty, maybe thirty minutes, the chosen ones glow.