January arrives portrayed by a two headed god. A new year begins and an old one ends on a calendar which follows the sun and forgets the moon. The computer faithfully registers the change by immediately eliminating the numeral two and replacing it with a three. Nature is indifferent.
More reflective of nature is the garden. It is encircled by trees and the ground beneath them grows wild and untamed. Leaves lie where they land sheltering wild flower seeds and bugs. The birds pick through them. The cat watches the birds. The dog chases the cat. The birds fly away. They will come back.
Somewhere between nature and calendar, one small corner of the garden sits outright in the sun and is cultivated. It flooded unto desolation in December. As the water receded, wind bared the carefully tended plot into gnarly swirls of mud soaked straw. January topped it with ice. It will need a kind hand to be beautiful again.
Other than the usual winter disarray, the garden left wild is undisturbed.