Poor pathetic winter. Must be hard to be so cold, so harsh, so dark and lifeless. Imagine being something that drives people indoors to avoid it, that makes depressions more pronounced and whitens the skin of Caucasians to an impossibly pasty shade the world over. And all of this in three measly months.
I have run away from winter and its cold weather for seven consecutive years. This most recent winter happened sort of by accident as I would never intentionally put myself through the woes of a Denver winter. But, alas, I made it through and surprisingly, it went faster than I could have expected. I also know for a fact that I won't do it ever again. This snowbird will migrate, likely to a Mexican beach for month or two every winter until I die or decide to stay permanently on that beach.
Spring is here with all its new beginnings, life sprouting on every patch of dirt and winter's pasty whiteness being displayed on the chests of men and the legs of ladies in parks all over Denver. May the longer days drag on and on and on so that the next nine months feel like another seven years free of winter's bite.