Oh, my nippy self,
forget not the embrace of January mornings and the sweet balm of it that saw you through the birthing of this new year. Renascentia is your word. How elegant it reads. It rolls in the tongue, - silk creamy caramel golden taste of honey. - Renascentia. Re-birth! But birth has pains and push and groans and sweat and tears and gnashing at intrepid times that punish for a second. And yes, there is that lashing slew of inner vexation.
Slither from guilt. No one is after you. Bedeck your soul with jewels of understanding. Learn from the years, heave, close your eyes and release the breath for you - a woman - know the workings of it that bring forth life. Renascentia. The self that comforts me.
It is the last day of January.