This is a month of slow erosion. It grinds you down a little bit every day. The days are starting to lengthen, but only by a blink or two each morning and evening. It’s so cold that your breath freezes in your beard, and your hands turn red and puffy from the wind biting through the seams in your gloves.
January chafes and rubs at you. It grinds down with icy files, smooths off with dark sandpaper and polishes you raw with salty grit.
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