As January draws towards a close I share a poem written for the annual meeting of ‘The Society for the Appreciation of January’, a group of ladies who meet each year to appreciate the most unappreciated month of all. The poem celebrates the charm and beauty of cold and foggy January mornings in the villages of Bangladesh.

January in the village

Morning fog slows day’s awakening, softening blood red sunrise

Mist dulls speed and noise, and space takes on a shadow world’s disguise

By waking homesteads milking cows breathe steam into grey dawn

Dressed in neatly stitched hessian robes and the dusty smell of hay

Warm milk at the dairy

To celebrate January

Goats in old coats find green leaves and warmth, kids in kid’s hand-me-downs

Torn t-shirts and worn sweaters, pulled over reluctant sharp-horned crowns

Along the path, through mist appear piles of clothes in human form

While dark lingers under mango trees huddling to stay warm

Morning is a sanctuary

To celebrate January

Smoke from morning fires mingles lifting fog with smells of tea

Small flames lick eagerly at cold air and wood from new cut trees

Morning’s yawning children put on red and orange knitted hats

While early risers wrap their heads like gifts waiting to unwrap

All dressed up merry

To celebrate January