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Dearest Winter, Come back! I miss you! You're such a pleasant houseguest. Our evenings together were so delightful; I'd light a candle and snuggle up on the couch with a cup of tea, and you'd put on a little rain and a breeze to make me feel all cosy and warm. You knew how much I love to dress in layers, and I appreciated the cool temperatures of day more than you'll ever know. The way you would make night so beautifully cold, so I could pile my bed with blankets and make a cocoon in which I could sleep warmly, soothed into dreams by the patter of rain against my window... oh, Winter, you just knew how to comfort me. During the days you commanded the sky to be overcast. How did you know I loved clouds so? You seemed to understand that my eyes are sensitive to light - now that your visits are less frequent, and the clouds ever-decreasing, I get headaches from the bright sunshine. Oh, sure, Spring can conjure up storms, and Summer tries her best at rain, but no-one does it like you. You're both fierce and gentle; you spit hail upon the ground and blanket the lawn with ice, then melt it away with a tearful shower. Your beauty is underestimated - the majority of the general public complains about you, sniffles into their collective handkerchief and speaks of you with contempt and derision. Don't let them chase you away, Winter - I need you here with me. As the rest of the my southern-hemisphere world rejoices in the thawing warmth of Spring and basks in the golden light and tender breezes it brings, I just hang my head and sigh. "But it's beautiful," they smile. "It was such a lovely day today, don't you think?" No, I don't think it was beautiful. Beauty is a cold wind and a hard rain - a sun setting in the late afternoon rather than mid-evening - a hot cup of tea and flannelette pajamas - clouds and warmth from a heater or blankets or a cuddle from the one you love, hot toast and the comfort of being inside. How could anyone criticise you? Please, Winter, I'm on my knees. Come back... I'm begging you. love,
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