Dear Winter,
Today I tried, I really truly made an honest attempt to embrace your return to my life. The softly falling flakes are beautiful, thank you. My friends and family are all so pleased with the delightful gift of fresh tracks that you have presented this March. It was...unexpected, what with the Spring birds and the crocuses and all.
I had every intention of traveling up the gondola to play in your gift, I swear. I woke up early. I caffeinated. I even lovingly stroked my snowboard last night before bed and whispered all sorts of promises about the Sunday we would share together.
The truth is- I'm living a lie. I just don't love you like I did in December.
Remember December? When our season was young and all of the grand dreams and possibilities wrapped us in a euphoric state? December, when my first turns of the year were exciting and fresh, and I couldn't wait for all of the powder days ahead.
I'm sorry, Winter, I'm over you. I've moved on.
You see, while you were away for the last couple of weeks, Spring and I fell in love. I know it's hard to hear, but please, let me explain.
It started as a casual observation that I didn't need to shovel snow, or scrape ice from my car anymore. Then I realized that I didn't need to put on so many layers in the morning. Some days I didn't even need a coat!
Maybe Spring wouldn't have been so enticing if I didn't work outside, but I won't change for you, Winter.
I think what finally drove me from your mountain play lands was the first time I laid eyes on grass. So green and alive and glistening in the sunlight. I was instantly seduced, swept away by distant memories of long lazy days spent lounging on the dock at Alpha Lake; camping, hiking, riding my bicycle...
And it was hard when you left me, Winter. All of that confusion- would you return to me? Were you gone for the year? Would it be days before I saw you again? Weeks? Months? And then there was the terrible mess that you left. The slush. The half-frozen snot falling from the sky. I don't want to go through that again.
So it's over, Winter, at least for me, anyway. Maybe we can give it another try next November, when we've both had time to find ourselves; to analyze our shortcomings and really think about what we could bring to the table in a new season.
It's been real. It's been fun. It just ain't real fun anymore, darlin'.
I'll think of you when I put a thick coat of storage wax on the Arbor. A tear will come to my eye when I get frostbite reaching for a popcicle in the back of the freezer this Summer. I will look back at all of our pictures together with only fondness.
And hey- we'll always have December.
