18.05.12
This is reprinted from the January issue of PineStraw magazine.
I may be the only person I know who really digs the month of January.
Where most folks see a month of diabolical bone-chilling winds and Christmas bills arriving in a blizzard, I see a things of rest and reflection, the gift of a moment to withdraw and take stock and mentally regroup, as my equally strict-working wife likes to say.
In short, like Mole and Badger from “Approaching in the Willows,” it’s my burrowing month.
Come January, I’ve almost always simply finished work on one book and am pondering the start of work on another — force on pondering. This is, after all, my lovely self-imposed exile-from-the-world month, the measure I stay close to the hutch and read books I’ve had stacked up for months (unqualified to read another writer’s work for fear I’ll confuse his voice with my own), pledge gallons of real hot chocolate, take walks, take naps, watch my favorite movies for the umpteenth moment, and try my best to to keep the mum’s freezing feet warm in bed.
Source: Southern Pines Pilot