Dear Winter,

It's time. I'm sorry, but you need to go. I thought I was managing quite well considering the rough relationship we'd had in the past. That was until yesterday morning when, as I was rushing to get to work, I crossed the intersection of 110 and 109 St in a grumpy mood because of the skating rink like conditions on the sidewalks, and felt my feet begin to move in a way I had not commanded. You see I told them to walk quickly across the street, and instead they both slid forward and directly up into the sky as the rest of me crashed backwards to the ground. In a daze I realized that the light had turned green, and I was lying in the intersection on my back. I jumped up in embarrassment, brushed myself off and kept walking. It was only when I was safe-ishly on the sidewalk that I noticed the bleeding gash in my hand. I wanted to turn around, go home and cry. But instead I limped along to school, bandaged up my hand and gave a presentation on struggling readers. It's time. I'm sorry, but you must go.

Love,
H.