Summer to Winter and Back Again

Today I read on a friend’s Facebook page that she was happily cutting and stacking wood getting ready for winter. I could only groan inside. There are so many things I don’t like about winter. I don’t like being cold. I feel like all of my muscles are tight and flexed at the same time. I don’t like long sleeves, long pants, turtlenecks, scratchy sweaters, shoes and socks, and layer upon layer of bulky clothing to make me fat. No one can see my color coordinated toenails that I paid someone else to file and polish. My feet will become neglected Neanderthals with rough patches and pinched digits. I will let the hair grow back on the tops of my toes because I will forget about them. My daughters will be horrified that I have revealed this family secret. We have hair growing on the tops of our toes and fingers. No one should ever know this hideous fact. We might be ostracized by the society of hairless people. I’ll have to collect the menagerie of colorful flip flops scattered through the house, match them up and file them away for next summer when I’ll take them out and wonder that I wore such mashed and deformed, faded and dirty rubber shoes upon my feet. I’ll put a bottle of sunscreen in my bedside table for the sharpest coldest day when I don’t want to get out of my bed. I can take out the bronze bottle, flip up the lid and breathe in the smell of summer. I can leave my favorite pair of flip flops by my bed and use them for slippers. When the first signs of spring appear I will be tempted to wear short sleeves and capris to expose my pale white skin that has missed the summer sun. I will be tempted to go to the tanning salon and get a head start on summer color. I will long to awaken in the morning to hear happy birds and hot nights with cricket sounds and honeysuckle smell. Then, I can post how happy I am about the glorious approaching summer on my Facebook page.