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Snowy Sunday Morning In Late March

The sun must have risen somewhere. I can see out the window, but despite being the third official day of Spring, it is snowing; very hard.  I don't mind the snow, but it seems like the entire world does and that has a horrible effect on me in many ways. Why are summer people so open to suggestion, whether it be a place to go for a drink or a meal, but in the winter, these people stick to such a rigid routine? They gaze out the window, seeing the pinkish grey sky atop the white ground and their minds become numb. Even when given the opportunity of making a choice, their minds shrivel up, like a frightened armadillo and they go with what is safe. Obviously, I'm being cryptic, because I don't want to offend. How many times can the same friend write about the weather? How often can I read about the cold? Why do they think we care, if they don't even care? Why is it I see pictures of the journey to work from some in the winter, every single day, but never in the summer when the sights are much more worthy of a photo? Why is it, that my summer was filled with glorious meals, great conversation and smiling faces, but this winter is breaded meat or the same fish, repeatedly ruining my appreciation for it's very existence. Conversations, each night, starting and ending with the same subjects, but I don't think anyone notices but me. I'm different, I get it, but I don't understand why my life has to be ruined, because others don't appreciate this season of cold. The same way I enjoy old films, I view winter. The best memories are with cold in the air and snow on the ground and the longer it sticks around, the longer I get to savior those memories. Meanwhile, others look forward to some mystical weather, where they stare blankly skyward, while soaking up the rays and nobody realizes how boring they've become.

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