Letter to Jack Frost

Dear Jack.

You looked so cool in your white suit and in the beginning I must admit that you bewitched me with your wintry charms.

Your ways with magic led me down paths to cosiness and sweet hibernation,

I watched you endlessly from my windows and lost myself in your beauty.

I believed your promises of snow-to-come and you did not let me down.
And I revelled in the blizzards and snowed-in days of laziness cut off from humankind with only dogs, books and warm log fires for company and hot soups, stews and toddies. 
(ah the toddies…).

In truth though you are a cruelly harsh and unforgiving guest who has stayed too long.
(Why do you stay so long?)

The ground you whitened is so hard and there is just no release from your stone-like icy clutch.  Beloved birds have perished at your feet, as have frogs and toads, the young, the old. 

Faded away to sleep in a long, long cold. 

Depression is rife, there is some sort of epidemic in these parts.
It is a blight of the blues where only sadness rules.

I am sated now, you have worn me down, tired me out with your coldness
You have frozen me so that I am chilled through down to the very bone,
chilled and dulled, but I really should have known that was always your intention.
 Just to freeze.

On top of everything I am now poverty-stricken, (sky-high bills for fuel) and worn out with fetching and carrying all those logs to burn, ashes to empty, hearths to clean.

Your hoarfrost images of beauty will stay an imprint  in my memory; those trees and fields in all their splendour, I hope they come again.

But now a new love beckons; she is called Spring and she is warm and forgiving. Her charms will beat yours hands down.  They are endless.

So am I fickle?  Yes maybe I am. 
But all my passion for you is spent.

I am bored with the ways of Winter.

This is goodbye.