January, month of empty pockets! Let us endure this evil month, anxious as a theatrical producers forehead. – Sidonie Gabrielle Colette

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit – William Cullen Bryant