Winter's Apology

Winter tiptoed in this year, afraid she'd be unwelcome after last year's frozen fairy tale turned ugly. She asked forgiveness for ice-capped streets and cars stranded in driveways and roofs caving in or leaking. All dressed in white for Christmas, she showed us her best side. We welcomed her with tongues lifted to catch all the flakes and arms and legs in jumping-jack form to make angels. The little red sled learned to bobsled and luge and carry snowmen home. Snowballs sailed over snowfort walls, and the shovel happily scooped up fluff instead of chipping away at ice in the street gutters. Winter waltzed around, relieved to see we weren't holding a grudge.

But something went wrong because Winter left abruptly. 

She left in tears, melting all but the tiniest of snow piles. She took the snowmen, Snowy and Brian, sphere by sphere, until they were nothing but memories. She took the icicles, drip by drip, as if a hairdryer burned them out. She took it all, dance over, song done. She took it well before Spring.

Did we step on her toes? Did we say something rude or sarcastic? Did we get nervous that she was settling in to stay too long? Did she get scared we'd remember running out of ice melt, falling on our backs, breaking down on a friend's street?

Maybe it was part of her apology to leave while we had only laughter and celebration on our cold cheeks. Or maybe she'll return before the tulips to give us another dusting of beauty, deciding that we like her best in short visits. We hope she comes again this season, because we aren't ready to pack up the sweaters, stow away the scarves, push the boots to the back of the closet, and hang the sled in the rafters. Our dance card isn't full, and we've got some new steps to try.