I’ve always hated winter, not that I don’t enjoy raindrops against my skin, I do. Perhaps winter doesn’t really deserve all pieces of literature which were consumed by its name. How come I fill my wardrobe with warm clothes, yet you disappear! You can’t be dishonest, winter. You keep me waiting for you. How come you’re so pure and white! Your loud thunder gives me a fright ! You might please poor farmers and young lovers, but you freeze me!