To Winter (a fickle season):
I know you're harsh nature freezes a brittle crust over New England hearts a few months every year. We give you nothing but shit, and that must have gotten old a long time ago, but please don't leave us like this, dancing in and out if our lives whenever the mood moves you.
I only ever see you at night these days. You come to sleep with us then leave for Europe again in the morning. Sure you've gotten bored a few times and come to visit, but that just isn't enough. I can feel my toes all day, and I don't even think my elbows are chapped.
Most people want you to stay out. Everything you bring with you chips away at our souls, and they know better than to long for such an abusive relationship. When this is all you know, it's hard to do the sensible thing and run far far away to somewhere like the temptress California. I need to struggle through snow drifts and lose feeling in my face. I'm a sucker for blankets of traffic stopping snow. I miss layers and scarves and the red Steve Zissou hat I found for $7 last year that's the first not to make me sweat.
Spring won't be as sweet without conquering you. That tease flurry this morning made me smile, even though I knew I should be shaking my fist at you.
Forever yours,
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