The brown leaves of the lilies in the bed at the edge of the yard were beaten down by the weeks of rain, and now lie moldering around the feet of new green leaves which have sprung up with astonishing rapidity. The birds come and peck at the moist earth between them, seeking the worms that are aerating the soil. The bare branches of the trees allow the sunlight to fall on the fresh green lawn, well watered by the rain and released now from the autumnal burden of fallen leaves. January's few warm days reveal a world of continued growth, subdued yet persistent. Even the sourgrass by the front door sports a number of tiny new blossoms, deep pink among the velvety green leaves.
With evening, the slender crescent of the waxing moon appears, and the cooling air is filled with the scent of wood smoke. The sky wraps its blanket of stars over the forest as a northern breeze stirs the pines to join the gurgling streams and the hooting owl in a night song. It is time to close the windows and savor the lamp-lit room, the soft shadows and good books, while the Earth turns the forest through night, toward the slightly less distant dawn.