Dear Winter,
I know you and I had some good times together. You, I’m sure, remember the snowball fights on the way to the cafeteria during college and, earlier this year, when I used a day off from school to make a snowman with my husband. The same as a sprinkler during summer, you sometimes really have the ability to touch the child-like in me.
I made a big decision in June 2002 to move out of the snow belt of Western Pennsylvania; this came about for a mixture of reasons, including the need for a change of scenery, the increased job opportunities and, yes, to provide some escape from the harsh winters. I felt smothered in a blanket of white; I just needed a little more “space,” okay? But I wasn’t rejecting you! I knew you’d still come by, even though there was some distance between us.
Things started out great here, and I was even a little delighted when you first visited, a gentle blanket of white covering Philadelphia, the city I now think of as home. I thought we had reached an agreement, that things couldn’t be as serious between us as they were during college…but you were certainly still welcomed in my life as an acquaintance.
Gradually, however, I started to feel a bit uncomfortable. Like you were always showing up and, even worse, stick around long after I made it clear we were through. I tried to explain, but you kept calling. Then, on President’s Day, we had a big blow up, and you took things way out of proportion, dumping foot upon foot of snow in my backyard. You really inconvenienced a lot of people all in the name of being slighted by little ole moi.
When March 21st came around–you’ll recognize this as the first day of Spring–I thought we would have a break from one another and maybe we could patch things up in November or December. But you just don’t see things that way. Just won’t listen or give me the space and time I need. I’m starting to feel frustrated.
The accumulation covering my yard and street this morning is the last straw. You are just not respecting my needs here, Winter. You’re straining the relationship we’ve developed over the last 25 years and becoming a nuisance. I know those are strong words, but clearly you weren’t listening before and you need this kind of brutal honesty.
Get out of my yard. Stop coming by. Stop calling. Not even “just for a snowflake or two.” I mean it. From now on, I’m calling the shots, and I’ll let you know when I’m ready to start up again. Until then, I expect you to let Spring come in here and do her thing. Until then, I don’t want one bit of ice-crystal precipitation out of you.
Sincerely,
moi
