Dear Winter,

You've been so weak willed this year, like a tired old dog. Where's your fighting spirit? I am a big fan of the crytsal clear days where the world is so cold even the bright bright sun is made of ice, but there hasn't even been much sun to speak of, even on the warmest days. In all honesty, the warmest days have also been the dreariest. What kind of winter are you? Yesterday and today were big improvements, I rode my bike and watched my breath fog up and sang some songs on my way around the city while the sun shone on my back. It was great, just like old times. I miss you a lot. I'll curse your name when you're around, but that's because you're a bastard and so am I and sometimes I think I like thinking of you more than I like having you around. If you stick around until March I promise to visit the frozen lake at least once.

Your friend,