I used to dread January. The greyness. The dark. The Monday-morningness of it all. Then a few years ago I starting painting January. The ink-black tracery of bare branches, and the sugar pink skies of Epiphany in the days following new year. The frost-bright skies of last week offered skies of peach, candy floss, clementine and flame. I used to mourn for Christmas brightness, but now it's gone, replaced by glorious sunrises and sunsets and I wouldn't have it back again.
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