I hate winter

I hate the cold wind penetrating through my coat. I hate having to wear a heavy coat and sweaters and gloves just to take a walk.

I huddle in the house all weekend, burying myself in my rocking chair, sipping hot drinks. Through the window I can see the barren dogwood tree, its branches waving wildly like a demented scarecrow. Blackened leaves still cling to the rose bushes.

No soft blanket of snow has covered their nakedness this year. Winter used to be sledding down a hill on a sunny day, snow fights and snow forts.

Now, it is just cold, cold, cold. Bitterness unrelieved. What can we do but wait for spring?