Notes on the First Day of Spring

Dear Winter,

I know many of my friends don't understand how I feel about you. I think most of them don't even like you, because some of them have said fairly mean things about you. (And I think more of them are whispering about us behind my back.) But I don't hold that against them. They have a special relationship with Summer, which I also don't understand. How could they prefer sweaty, sweltering heat and ticks and mosquitoes and dusty wind blowing hot and burning their eyes? But I digress. This is my love letter to you.

As I went for my walk this morning, I was glad there was a bit of your chill left in the air. I picked a handful of daffodils, leaping up from bulbs which my mother had planted many years ago, and I was reminded that springtime is when she died, while working in her yard, no less. I don't hold that against Spring, because it does have some nice qualities, but the thought of my mom's passing did make me sad. (And secretly, I do think Spring had something to do with it.)

I notice that I didn't get the leaves raked in the yard at Mom and Dad's house after Autumn dumped them there last year. Autumn, I know there are those who adore you, and your weather can be delightful, especially when you remind that Winter is on the way, but you're so messy. I wish you could pick up after yourself instead of making me feel obligated to do it. My Dad's words echoing in my ears, "You have to keep the leaves raked from around your house, because if there's ever a fire, your house will burn down." Autumn, this leaf situation is your fault.

But I am not trying to assess blame here. I am merely telling you, Winter, how much you mean to me. I may be blinded by your beauty, but you make me feel so comfortable and creative and peaceful. I also realize not everyone thinks you're beautiful, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

So, I will close for now, with the acknowledgment that every season is different, and we all have our own reasons for picking a favorite. We're all different, and that's okay, or it should be, anyway. I will be content with Spring, Summer and Fall, but please know, Winter, I am waiting eagerly for you to return. I miss you already.

Love,
Terry