He's been stalking me for months. His presence cold enough to chill me to the bone. He casts a dismal shadow over my day and has ruined at least four pairs of boots. And then, just like a bad dream he was gone. In his absence, she arrived. The world looked brighter, there was a song in my step (Pick Up the Phone by Dragonette) and my thoughts danced with visions of adorable new dresses and sunkissed tresses....
But suddenly, a recurring nightmare, he was back. He spat at her with his stone-cold venom and blanketed all surfaces with a dull gray film. Dashed were my hopes of freckles and a tan as the colour drained from my face, lips turning blue and fingertips to ice.
But this is the last time. The last time I reel against the wind; the last time my hair goes frizzy and staticky ice and cold; the last time I brush off the car only to end up with a soggy wet coat; the last time I contemplate Sorrel's and my parka; the last time I pretend-shovel; and the last pair of boots I lose to sick salt stains!
Old Man Winter, I'm talkin' to you! Quit being a bully, and Spring, dear, sweet Spring, man up and grow a pair!