As I look out my window,
My breath fogs the glass,
Melting the tiny crystals that should have disappeared weeks previously.
My hopes for a long spring
Were buried under the inches of snow
That coats the frozen ground.
My hopes for a short winter,
Were blown away a long time ago.
Tea is still in season,
Long socks are still appropriate,
And buckets of salt are still needed.
Winter is the most stubborn of houseguests.
I'm begging her not to stay much longer.