Hi Summer,
Amber here…
I guess what I want to say is, I miss you.
Wow. I never thought that I would hear those words escape from my lips. I never thought that I would be sitting in a library composing a letter to you, lamenting your sunny presence and generous warmth (which at times, I must admit, was a bit overwhelming). Nevertheless, here I am, or here I was. By the time you see this, I am sure that you will be well out of hibernation and shining about just as you once were. However, until that time comes, let what will become sweet words of nostalgia resonate in the depths of your existence.
As much as I adore and treasure the endless possibilities of outfit ensembles that arise out of the crevices of fall and winter, I have concluded, that I am not for the cold. This revelation that I have somehow known but have always feared to admit. I want to love to fall and winter, I do. And this is not to say that I do not love the festivities, holidays, and sentiments that come from said seasons, because I do. All I am saying is that I can no longer, physically – and mentally – withstand the cold.
Please forgive me, Fall and Winter.
Yet, in all honesty, you two are the ones that have betrayed me.
Last year amidst the heart of winter, I was in the streets of Washington D.C. for the Women’s March on Washington. And my life was put to the test. Not by the energetic and full spirited participants and crowd rousers, but by the excruciating cold, accompanied later by rain…pure torture (however the march was wonderful).
Although late fall in Georgia is not as threatening or harsh as say that winter in D.C., my being can tell no difference. If it is cold outside…it’s cold outside. So, Georgia, you need to chill. My hands are stricken with pain and my heart aches for sunnier days.
Summer, you are beloved, and you are dearly missed. I await your return with eagerness and much gratitude.
Until next year, my dear.