JANUARY MAN by dot January - The month of the Roman god Janus, who is commonly depicted as having two faces, gazing in opposite directions. The god of beginnings, and indirectly, endings. *** Today, instead of lunch, I've taken a short drive out from the regional office in order to breathe a little, to clear my head. I've been to this place before, and its calm and serenity have always been a balm to my heart, reminding me of a time when things were so much simpler. I need to walk, to feel the force of the elements and somehow prove my connection to the real, physical world. I leave my tie curled in the car and pull open the top buttons of my shirt, release myself temporarily from at least two of the myriad restrictions in my life. It takes me only a second to scale the low fence, the winter's chill already cutting me to the bone. My head is uncovered, my shirt as white as the fresh expanse of snow before me, the rest of my clothing as black as the few gnarled trees clawing desperately at the sky. As black as Krycek's heart. I stick my gloved hands into the pockets of the heavy overcoat, and pause for an moment to survey the field in all its stark, virginal beauty. After a few heartbeats' contemplation, I begin to walk, scarring the pristine landscape with my clumsy tread. A lone bird cries plaintively overhead, breaking the silence, and circles once in a swooping dive before leaving me to my ruminations. My breath condenses and plumes around me, yet the memories of *him* refuse to crystallise with such clarity, even in the frigid air. The emotions from the brief, fierce heat of our time together remain too inextricably fused. Hope, fear and desire mingling in the prelude to that first, inevitable kiss; followed too soon after by shame, anger and despair at the equally inevitable betrayal. The look in his eyes a damnation. Leaving me with nothing now left to do but draw my coat a little tighter, a little closer around myself, and trudge on alone through the cold, barren emptiness. Where the ground cover is light, my footprints break through to the grass and earth beneath, dirtying the soft snow left crushed in my wake. It seems that even in this harsh, beautiful landscape of black and white, just as in *his* unforgiving world, the path I am condemned to walk is grey, forever grey. *** [He] had a January world So many storms, not right somehow How a lion becomes a mouse By the woods, by the woods, by the woods, by the woods... - Black-Dove (January) - Tori Amos THE END