a letter to winter
(to be placed under the bucket of salt on the front steps)
Dear Winter:
We invited you in when we were feeling adventurous and now we have second thoughts.
Back in November, the sights, sounds and scents of autumn had ceased to soothe us, and her beauty grew tiresome. Our decorative pumpkins had braved the hard frost and it was high time to chuck them. Somewhere. (Does anyone else besides me stand in their backyard with a truckload of deteriorating gourds and consider where to toss them?)
You beckoned us with childhood memories and with Currier & Ives prints of pristine snowfalls and of horse-drawn sledges coasting to grandma's house. (Like we ever get to do that.) And like mesmerized kindergarteners following the candy truck, we fell for you hook, line and sinker.
When your frosted chill became brazen enough to withstand the morning sun and finally worked its way into neglected leaf-piles and under our summer-weight quilts, we gave up our allegiance to fall and voted for you. Winter all the way, we said. Then we hunkered down with mugs of steaming beverages and watched for snow from our kitchen window with child-like anticipation.
Dolts, we were.
For we knew it would come to this; we know the fickleness of the pack we run with. Along about this time, Winter, we are sorry we issued the invitation. What once entertained us now infuriates us. Enough is enough, we say to each other and to shopkeepers and to librarians and to the weather-people on TV who can't even hear us.
Enough is enough is enough.
Dear Winter: you have had your say and it's been lovely and all. But in all politeness, may we show you to the door? Things are strained between us--way too strained to sort it out.
We promise you this: if you'll be on your way cheerfully and without remorse, we will still like you. After we hang out with our other friends (namely, Spring, Summer and Fall) for awhile, we will invite you back.
Oh, and---please shut the door on your way out. Thanks.
Dear Winter:
We invited you in when we were feeling adventurous and now we have second thoughts.
Back in November, the sights, sounds and scents of autumn had ceased to soothe us, and her beauty grew tiresome. Our decorative pumpkins had braved the hard frost and it was high time to chuck them. Somewhere. (Does anyone else besides me stand in their backyard with a truckload of deteriorating gourds and consider where to toss them?)
You beckoned us with childhood memories and with Currier & Ives prints of pristine snowfalls and of horse-drawn sledges coasting to grandma's house. (Like we ever get to do that.) And like mesmerized kindergarteners following the candy truck, we fell for you hook, line and sinker.
When your frosted chill became brazen enough to withstand the morning sun and finally worked its way into neglected leaf-piles and under our summer-weight quilts, we gave up our allegiance to fall and voted for you. Winter all the way, we said. Then we hunkered down with mugs of steaming beverages and watched for snow from our kitchen window with child-like anticipation.
Dolts, we were.
For we knew it would come to this; we know the fickleness of the pack we run with. Along about this time, Winter, we are sorry we issued the invitation. What once entertained us now infuriates us. Enough is enough, we say to each other and to shopkeepers and to librarians and to the weather-people on TV who can't even hear us.
Enough is enough is enough.
Dear Winter: you have had your say and it's been lovely and all. But in all politeness, may we show you to the door? Things are strained between us--way too strained to sort it out.
We promise you this: if you'll be on your way cheerfully and without remorse, we will still like you. After we hang out with our other friends (namely, Spring, Summer and Fall) for awhile, we will invite you back.
Oh, and---please shut the door on your way out. Thanks.
posted by thisrequiresthought at 7:51 AM
7 Comments:
Nancy! You are so very funny! -Ann P.S. Will you please sign my name at the bottom of that letter too before you put it under the salt bucket?
I posted about winter too. Sign my name too before leaving the letter under the salt bucket.
I'm an odd one. Poor Liana, with exasperation, exclaimed, "What did you say?!" as we drove through Canton and I commented on it being "such a beautiful winter's day!"
To top it all off, even Rick agreed with me. Blame it on age - these days we can't afford to rush any day by, even a full-fledge winter day!
(But soon I'll be ready for spring - I hope. I hope it doesn't catch me unprepared this year!)
the beauty of winter white, gleaming,sparkling amongst the tress and hillsides, is almost indescribable.....but I'm with you, it has outstayed it's welcome. we can reflect on it's beauty again next year. it took two bobcats to clear out our driveway on Sunday. good thing we have our Suburban, or else the hospital would have been without a certain surgeon.
each season has it's own glory, and for us outdoor people, we are ready for our refreshing spring.
margaret
Nancy-
For those of us with way-too-busy husbands, I simply relish these snowed-in winter days; time for us to all be together, huddled close to the fire telling "childhood stories" before bedtime with the kids. I do so love these winter days we share shut up within our cozy (and somewhat drafty) abode. Winter, you can secrectly stay at our home...we won't tell Nancy.
Sarah D.
Nancy,
You are too much!!
I love reading your writings. You
should write a book.
Love, Aunt Mary Anne
I agree with your aunt, Nancy. You should write a book. - Ann
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