God of Doorways and Transitions

Passing a call to someone in another department at work today, talking about the two faced nature nature of January, one of sludgy grey cold, and the other of pure and brilliant sunlight. 'Like someone has sharpened all the angles over night' she said, and I passed the call over.
January, named after the Roman deity Janus, the god of doorways and transitions. He is often depicted as having two faces, one to look at the past, the other the future.
January is well named.

Met Em at lunch today. Warm enough to have a cup of tea on the beach. 'Builders tea' (large for myself, regular for Em) bought from the stall outside of Brighton Pier. Sat on the steps leading down to the beach, watching two foreign students eat fish'n'chips from polystyrene boxes. Battered cod on the stones of the wall that one of the girls sits on and behind her, the shadows of the under-pier.
Blue of the sea beyond.
I pretend I remember the sea glittering.

In the lift at work. A sudden breath of something. A lungful of some past, some memory, some time I can't quite focus on. Something that tastes of Christmas and those years of Southside in Kinloss, the turn of the 1970s into the 1980s. A dark and cavernous feeling, something mysterious and deep and comforting like a grotto or a school nativity play.
Looking at the fairy lights on a Christmas tree, multi-coloured bulbs wrapped round and up and down and between the branches. Hypnotised by those lights lost in the most remote aspects of that tree, lost and happy in the pine-needle labyrinth.
Not the only Proustian-rush that I experienced today. Had two walking home tonight. Two breaths, and in each breath a flinging back to some other time. First breath and I'm in Ruth's house in Whitbourne, January of 1997, out in her garden in a similar sunlight. The smell of her parents hallway, an orange smell of new hooverings and air freshener.
Next breath and-
No. It's gone. I can't remember what that second breath took me back to. Like trying to remember a dream, once its gone its gone. Trying too hard to remember what I remembered. Mirrors facing mirrors, a psychomanteum of intimate history, an unsolved mystery for a phantom retro-ective.
Never mind.
Can feel the coming spring. Today anyway.
Think of Janus again, always looking to the past and the future.
No doubt which way I face.
I always have my back to tomorrow.