The Seasons, They are A' Changing

The arrival of winter in New York is very dramatic. He is harsh and cruel, all the while presenting himself as a wolf in sheep's clothing. He must be very aware of his sheer abrasiveness, because every year he remembers that he has to seduce us. In order to lure us into a false sense of security, he unleashes his right hand vixen: Fall.

She enters with the utmost subtlety, working her way into our affections with her delicate crispness and much needed freshness. She knows exactly what we need after the lambast of summer. By the time she first makes her presence felt, we are so happy to see her that we momentarily forget that she is a harbinger of the worst.

It is only when she begins to unwrap her bronzed tendrils from around us leaving the door wide open for Mr. Frost to take up residence that we become aware of what is happening. By that time, it is too late and we are stuck in a quagmire of snow, frost and bitter cold.

I am dancing with the vixen right now, but the ice-cold grip of Mr. Frost is at hand. I can see his shadow on every corner just waiting to pounce.

I HATE WINTER!