Favorite

The breakup 

observer1-1.jpg

Dear Winter,

The first thing we want to tell you is that we will always love you. Of that, you never have to worry or wonder. We. Will. Always. Love you. The second thing is, it's not you, sweetheart, it's us.

We'll always have the good times: the sledding, and those shouts that rise as the sledder dives, a shooting star, headfirst down the hill. We'll always have the squeak of boots in fresh powder, always the look of frozen breath in moonlight, always that lovely feeling of being cozy inside the house as the first grains of ice begin to rattle against the windows, always the joy of finding a five-dollar bill in the pocket of our jacket when we first put it on, always the joy of sitting in the dome of warmth around a fire while you whisper pale blue and gorgeous in the darkness, always the beauty of the waterfall frozen solid on Petit Jean. These are the things that we'll all treasure as April and May come on and the buds light up the trees and the mockingbirds return to their nests, heavy with eggs. These are the things that will make us long for your comfort in the black naugahyde hell of August, when ice cream cones begin to drip before you can get in one good lick, when the playground slides are too hot to be slid by 10 a.m.

Then we'll miss you. Then we'll pine for your chilly arms. Then we'll ask: How could we have ever been so ready to let her go, our sweet, lovely Winter? For now, though, we've made up our minds, and our minds say: We need some time apart. We need you to go.

Don't blame yourself. It wasn't the snow in December. It wasn't even those days in February when you raced up our coattails and slapped an icy hand on the small of our warm backs, a trickster whose tricks quickly ran thin and brittle after awhile. It was not the morning, so cold, when the car barely started, or the day we busted our ass flat on the ice, snatching back an extended wrist a second before impact, remembering our friend who spent a month in a cast two years ago after the same sort of icy mishap. We carried a bruise on our tailbone that went from purple to yellow to sick green over the course of weeks, like an alien sunrise. But that still wasn't it. All those things are in your nature, and we have to take the good with the bad. Too, loveliness carries a lot of weight with us, and there's no doubt you can be lovely.

No, beautiful, it's just that you have finally outstayed your welcome. That's all. A simple exhaustion. We were wrung out by February, but an ice storm in March? That just feels like plain, dumb spite, tinged with jealousy for your sister waiting in her green gown just offstage. Jealousy and spitefulness in a lover is a sin we can't quite forgive. And so, we finally come to the point where we can say the words: We're ready for you to go. Finally we can pack your bags and set them on the stoop: all your coats and boots and thick gloves, all your rock salt and wool, all your ice scrapers and electric blankets. It's all ready for you there. Ready for you to head out the door, and shut it behind you. No, no, no sweetheart, don't cry. No tears. We won't allow it. Remember the good times, not the bad, but otherwise keep looking forward.

Besides, as we said so recently: You have your charms, and we are never able to resist them for long. Something tells us that by the time red-headed Summer sashays off in her cloak of wavering grass and heat shimmer next September, we'll be longing for your touch again. In case you haven't heard it, here's the secret of love, my dear: Passion, like the seasons, is always turning like a wheel.

Your friend,

The Observer

Favorite

Tags:

Comments

Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

Readers also liked…

  • I'm sorry

    I'm sorry we stood by while your generation's hope was smothered by $1.3 trillion in student loan debt, just because you were trying to educate yourselves enough to avoid falling for the snake oil and big talk of a fascist.
    • Nov 17, 2016
  • Addendum

    he Observer has our regrets, just like everybody else. For example: last week, Yours Truly published a cover story on the increasingly ugly fight over Eureka Springs' Ordinance 2223, which is designed to protect a bunch of groups — including LGBTQ people — from discrimination in housing, employment, accommodations, cake buying, browsing, drinking, gut stuffery, knickknack purchasing, general cavorting, funny postcard mailing and all the other stuff one tends to get up to in the weirdest, friendliest, most magical little town in the Ozarks.
    • Apr 30, 2015
  • Snake stories

    The Observer's boss, Uncle Alan, is something of a gentleman farmer on his spread up in Cabot, growing heirloom tomatoes and watermelons and crops of chiggers on property that looks like the perfect farmstead Lenny and George often fantasized about in "Of Mice and Men."
    • Aug 27, 2015

Most Shared

Latest in The Observer

  • Writers blocked

    OK, back to basics, Observer. Get hold of yourself. Give the people what they want, which is escapism! If you don't, this column is eventually just going to devolve into The Prophecies of Hickstradamus at some point in the next four years: "The Orange Vulture perches in the fig tree. The great snake eats Moonpies and Royal Crown Cola by starlight ..." That kind of thing. Nobody likes that. Too much deciphering and such.
    • Dec 1, 2016
  • Cassandra

    The Observer's grandfather on our mother's side was a crackerjack fella. Grew up in the sandy hills north of Conway. County boy, through and through. During hog-killing time in December 1941, the story in our family goes, when word of Pearl Harbor reached his little community, he and his friends loaded into his T-model truck and made the rough journey to the first speck of civilization that included an Army recruiting office, where they all enlisted.
    • Nov 24, 2016
  • I'm sorry

    I'm sorry we stood by while your generation's hope was smothered by $1.3 trillion in student loan debt, just because you were trying to educate yourselves enough to avoid falling for the snake oil and big talk of a fascist.
    • Nov 17, 2016
  • More »

Visit Arkansas

Learn about one of the wildest oil booms in history in Smackover

Learn about one of the wildest oil booms in history in Smackover

This small south Arkansas city was once one of the top oil producers in the nation.

Event Calendar

« »

December

S M T W T F S
  1 2 3
4 5 6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15 16 17
18 19 20 21 22 23 24
25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Most Viewed

  • Vive la resistance!

    House Minority Leader Michael John Gray wants to chair the Democratic Party of Arkansas. His plan to lead the party back to relevance: Start listening to Arkansas again.
  • Lessons from Standing Rock

    A Fayetteville resident joins the 'water protectors' allied against the Dakota Access Pipeline.

Most Recent Comments

  • Re: Art in America

    • I have being hearing about this blank ATM card for a while and i never…

    • on December 2, 2016
  • Re: Asa and Trump

    • I have being hearing about this blank ATM card for a while and i never…

    • on December 2, 2016
  • Re: Writers blocked

    • You could do commentary on Grimms Fairytales. Of course those of the intensely extreme religious…

    • on November 30, 2016
 

© 2016 Arkansas Times | 201 East Markham, Suite 200, Little Rock, AR 72201
Powered by Foundation