that time of year

It is that time of year. When a certain feeling appears. That feeling of disappointment mixed with dread. As the days go by you know that it will show its ugly face one day or another, you can sense it.

One morning you wake up and you can hear the wind whistle outside the window. Lying under the duvet cover all cuddled up and you keep postponing getting out of bed. You sense that this is the day.

Finally you get out of bed and you pull up the window shade and there it is. It is white. It is all white.

The dreadful snow.