Dear Winter,
Earlier today I made myself a list of things I wanted to be sure and mention when I wrote this letter to you.
Normally, you provide Northern Minnesota, which I should like to add is at 46 degrees north latitude, with more than 80 inches of snowfall each year. This year, you've decided that we owe you snow? We have a negative snowfall balance? Snowverdraft?
What did we long-suffering Duluthians do to deserve this? Have we not suffered through endless months of below zero temperatures since the dawn of the modern era?
Thirty-four degrees above zero is certainly a balmy start to a February. But my kids can't go outside and play in 34 degrees and drizzle. My horsedogs come back in, all disappointed in the lack of snow in which to frolic, and wipe their muddy paws on my upholstery. I want to punch you in the face.
And the worst part? Spring is not around the corner. We both know it. No crocuses will be peeking their heads above ground in the next couple of weeks. Buds will not be returning to the trees.
No. And because we're in snowverdraft, any precipitation you were thinking of delivering will most certainly be diverted to a portion of the world that is not at 46 degrees north latitude.
Thanks a lot for temperatures that ensure that nothing pleasantly snowy will take place, nor will anything begin to grow.
Thanks a lot for the severe drought we'll be facing when spring does come. Good one.
I've decided that if you're unwilling to do your job and provide us with a proper winter, I will just force spring to arrive, in the studio at least.
I bought these quince branches, and they're quite happily flowering in the warm, humid environment yarn dyeing provides.
Take that.
Love,
Yarnista
P.S. I really will punch you in the face.
Not that I'm bitter or anything.