Now the 12th day of Christmas has passed, all the ornaments and decorations packed away for another year. The swans, partridge, gold rings and maids work complete for this holiday season. The tree is out by the bird feeder to provide a perch for the birds, the furniture moved back into its customary positions. The smell of pine needles has faded into memory and the winter has set in complete with a covering of post holiday snow. I am settling in to the practice of writing 2015, though it won’t become fluid for some time. I find that this time of year is a bit of a paradox, the holiday seems so long ago yet is actually not yet 2 weeks passed. January feels like another time unto itself. The slowly lengthening days, the sharp cold light and the quiet all seem to set the month apart. I like the timelessness that January days impart, the slow rhythm of the days which seem more suited to daydreaming over cups of tea or coca than giant leaps into the unknown. There seems to be time to mull things over, just as during the sultry dog days of summer, when your mind moves randomly from topic to topic, just exploring possibilities. Perhaps it is all part of a certain feeling found in the weather extremes of those two seasons. It is the illusion that time is moving slower than it is, a sleight of hand, a trick of the eye, and maybe a bit of magic that we all need from time to time.