I have to admit I’m not impressed with your unannounced arrival. It was purely unanticipated on my part and I can only call it rude. As any well-meaning season knows, a heartfelt and welcome arrival is one that occurs gently. A gradual shifting of temperature change and slow morphing of precipitation from a liquid to a semi-solid is appreciated. But not you and not last night. You slammed into the my neck of the woods with your obtrusive whiteness making the fact I can’t find my mittens onerous and inconvenient.
And don’t get me started on the fact I still house my golf clubs in the back of my vehicle. No, I’m not ready to remove them and replace them with my cross-country skis, thank you very much. I want to make THAT transition on my OWN time. I resent the fact you’re forcing my hand when it comes to this. You can sting my cheeks with your impudent flakes until I”m blue in the face but I’m not going to budge on this one. The clubs will be rattling their lighthearted tune echoing of sunlit summer days of yore for several more weeks I’ll have you know.
It’s with brutal honestly I tell you that I have not missed you. Not even remotely. I have attempted to completely obliterate you from my memory and therefore have not reflected on our past interactions with any sort of whimsy or nostalgia. Once in a while I have flashbacks of freezing appendages, itchy toques and uncontrollable slippages on ice all causing me to sigh in despondency. But I’ve been fighting back with doses of vitamin D, and mist tans, and surfing travel sites of warm and welcoming tropical locales.
You are not yet welcome in my world. Sure, at this time of the year you have a few minions who naively, and somewhat robotically revel in your arrival. They feign excitement but we all know they’ve been duped by your pathetic Christmas card charm.
Please know I have not completely written you off as a useless season. Come December 24th you’ll be more than welcome to settle in and contribute romantically in your fairytale whiteness lending a nostalgic quality to my Christmas, but until then I request that you hang in the periphery of my place of residence, in a neighboring province perhaps, and wait until I’m ready to deal with the inconveniences that come with your arrival.
The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches. ~e.e. cummings
~ Looking up, she showed him quite a young face, but one whose bloom and promise were all swept away, as if the haggard winter should unnaturally kill the spring. ~ Charles Dickens