I am breaking up with you. It’s over, done, finished. Don’t hang around. It makes you look needy. I will move to a tanning salon if I have to and wait for my new love to come rescue me – spring.
I know our affair has been a long one. With childlike wonder I’ve always welcomed you. As I matured I began to understand the depths of your soul and it was passionate. The way you made me feel all warm inside and yet, the air about you made me shiver. It was toxic and for years I adored you.
Maybe you appealed to me because in North Carolina I rarely got to see the real you. Those glimpses were magical for many years – eight inches here, six inches there. You’d come to me, dark and dramatic for a time, then you’d disappear making me want you even more.
This season you have come back to me over and over and over.
Each time you have been more menacing and demanding. The snow, ice, sleet and frozen water in the horses’ trough for days on end – your intensity has worn me down.
You have become possessive and it isn’t pretty. I know you stalked me last summer out on the back porch with family and friends enjoying the sultry night, didn’t you?
You know we are currently rebuilding our deck in anticipation of a new season and you watched us temporarily move that monstrous patio table to the back yard. (You know I found that on Craigslist and paid way too much for it.) So you shattered those dreams in last week’s ice storm, didn’t you? I see your evil. I hear your evil. I’m speaking to you, my evil winter.
Go ahead, wash my hardwoods with a permanent coat of mud tracked in from your soul. You have dipped so low, killing my protective shrubs and jasmine vines that caressed me so delicately for years. You have evaporated the horses’ brains, what little there is, such that they stand frozen in the elements while that pricey run-in shed I built for them stays barren.
Maybe it’s midlife. I’m just not into you that much anymore. Even Florida, with its monotonous sunshine, nagging mosquitoes and a plethora of geriatric communities, looks pretty hot to me now. I’ve been thinking lately that I might even try a ménage à trois. I’ll invite both spring AND summer to move in.
This past weekend the clock moved forward and so I must do the same.
Spring says he’s coming for me. I plan to be waiting on my front porch teasing him with my pasty-white legs. I’ll be holding a glass of wine in one hand and a bag of Kentucky 31 Fescue in the other.
You won’t be able to do a thing, you sad, sad season, but melt away.
However if you really want to get the last word, lover, bring that leaning pine tree down on my son’s arsenal of machinery in the side yard. I may invite you back and we can try this again next year.