dear winter.

Dear Winter,

I remember fondly our first meeting in December. You came along at the right time; I'd put the garden to bed after the season and played my last round of golf, so your timing was ideal. It was a blast hanging out with you during the holidays—you charmed me with the light snow flurries you brought, and I loved how your cold, brisk nights made the Christmas lights seem to dance.

And then ... Then I began to see things in you I didn't like so much. Sure, I loved spending a snow day off work with you. And the icy tree branches were lovely shimmering in the sun. But don't you think the widespread power outages were a bit excessive? And that snow squall was an unexpected surprise—but really? At rush hour?

Now, well, now it's over. You're so cold, you just won't give me space ... we have nothing in common anymore. I'm sorry, Winter, but it's over between us.

It's not me, it's you.