Hey winter, can we talk?
Look, in all honesty, I like you. I really do. These last few months we’ve endured short days and long nights together, and we’ve made the best of them. You’re a gorgeous season. All that snow this year was wonderful, except for that whole white-out, blowing snow phase. You could have spared me that one.
Ah, but we sure have had some fun. Still, I think it’s time we see other seasons.
It’s not you, it’s me.
I need a change. I’m feeling restless. It could be the whole spring fever thing. It makes us frisky for shoes without socks. Yet, spring is fickle. It plays hard to get. It flirts with promises of warm days and flowers in bloom.
I know I shouldn’t fall for it. I mean, spring isn’t nearly as sturdy as you are winter. You are always cold, in that secure, accountable way. Nobody delivers a wind-chill like you do. You never fail to make me shiver.
By all indications, spring is a commitment-phobe. It cannot make up its mind. One day it’s all warm, snow melting, birds singing and jackets off. Next day, I’m scraping my windshield of pebbled ice, which is taking forever because the car’s defrost has had enough too. But there I stand, in the early morning sun, bundled up in my giant, frumpy coat, fluffy toque and floppy mittens, scraping and scratching my windshield for the millionth time this year. I get this a Canadian spring. I know. But spring isn’t as funny as it thinks it is.
I realize it’s cliché of me to fall for that season’s bad-boy tendencies, but there is something suave about its promises that I cannot deny, I find them enticing. It’s not that I didn’t love our snowshoe adventures or early morning walks with the crunch sound of my boots in the deep snow, winter. We had some moments. They were special. It’s just, well, I need more.
I need change. I need colour in my life. I have recycled my drab wardrobe for months and I’m bored of it. Muted hues. So much black and grey. Bulky layers. Hat-head. Indoor shoes. I want to have one pair of shoes that I can wear all day long, inside and out, without socks. I really want to be rid of socks. I have a pair of coral sneakers that I cannot wait to break-in. I miss wearing white pants. That’s my dangerous side, you know. There, I said it.
I want my sporty tires with nice rims back on my car, windows down, making a day out of car rides to chip trucks far away. I need car washes where my power windows won’t freeze up. I want to swat flying insects and watch blooms pop up out of the soil. Have coffee on the deck. Pluck flying insects out of my coffee. Bring that on.
So, you see, winter, what we had was magic. There’s no denying that. But we’ve grown apart. Nothing good lasts forever. And you know what they say, if you love something, let it go. Let’s revisit these emotions after autumn and see where we’re at then. Until then, I’m blocking your number.
Wow, that was a cathartic exercise. I knew all those rejection letters from my former dating life would have a positive purpose one day.
“It’s not you, it’s me.” Right. Baggage. It’s a thing.
Spring, call me.
