On the night of Christmas, winter came. It stayed for a day, and like a hurried guest, it left as soon as it was polite to do so. And it hasn't been back since.
Outside the sliding doors, where the back field is, it is warm. It is wet. It is grey and dreary. And there isn't a single remaining patch of melting snow. Just the dull, bitter look of fall. Snow may be a nuisance at times, but it is pretty and brightens up everything it lands on. You can ski on it, snowmobile on it, or put an ice auger through it in the lake and dig a fishing hole.
We haven't been able to do any of that. Winter - come back! We hardly knew ye.
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