His name is January, and he is showered with blissful ignorance

The+view+of+my+neighborhood+from+my+driveway+one+night+during+the+most+recent+snow+storm.

Sofia Hargis-Acevedo

The view of my neighborhood from my driveway one night during the most recent snow storm.

His name is January.

He is beautiful. His thick tufts of white hair blanket his head and tickle his ears. His wardrobe consists of knit sweaters ranging from light tan to deep teal, warm pants with fleece lining in the interior, and an impressive amount of wool socks—anything to keep his chilly self warm. His favorite color is cerulean; it is the color of his bedroom. 

Everyone welcomes January with open arms, celebrating him as he enters a room. He gratefully accepts the love gifted to him, as it builds up his confidence, higher and higher. His smile is as white as the freshly fallen snow entrancing anyone who lays eyes on it. He has the energy of a songbird which radiates off his pearlescent skin onto every living creature in his presence. 

January is filled with ambition. He begins every day with a plethora of goals and the intention of completing every last one. January is punctual, timely, and will work strenuously to perfect each project he works on.

January is persistent. He will continue to fall and fall again, but each time he stands up twice as strong. January is extravagant. His actions are so grand and excessive that there is no way they could ever go unnoticed by the country, nae, the world.

January sighs a sigh of desperation; he is desperate for some sort of love, acceptance, and comfort, yet all he receives is ignorance.”

January is gentle. His touch is so delicate it’s hard to even recognize its presence. His fingers lightly trace the coarse bark of an oak tree. His hands rest tenderly between the sharp blades of viridescent grass. January could never harm a living soul.

Or could he?

Though everyone provides January with the warmest of welcomes, they want him to leave as fast as he came. This upsets him—enrages him, prompting him towards a storm of fury that results in fear, not love, from the people who once adored him.

In lieu of January’s sudden outburst, he sets a goal for himself to make everyone cherish him once again. He continues to flaunt his beauty, to show off his gifts. But January is seen as too ambitious. Sure, everyone around the world knows his name and the extent of his engrossing, natural beauty, but he has gone too far.

Everyone is tired of January.

He thinks that maybe he isn’t doing enough. Maybe if he goes bigger, then everyone will love him as much as they did the first day that they saw him, but January is too extravagant. His actions are too large, too excessive, and everyone wants him to be whisked away by the wind—to never have to greet him again.

He tries to be gentler, colder, and reserved from everyone. He thinks that maybe if he simply leaves them alone that he will have a chance of winning their affections back, but even then, he still manages to fail. Now, he is seen as too cold. Everyone flinches from the delicate touch of his frigid skin. January sighs a sigh of desperation; he is desperate for some sort of love, acceptance, and comfort, yet all he receives is ignorance.

Eventually, January gives up. He accepts the fact that the rest of his days on Earth will be carried out in solitude. His presence soon fades away as he solemnly watches everyone celebrate the emergence of February without even reminiscing about his visit.