I do not like the cold. I can never fully be myself unless I am outside, free, with the earth under my bare feet. But when it is cold, I must hide myself in layers of fabric, and i can never truely be a part of my surroundings. After a week of being trapped indoors, I sat down and angrily typed this out, feeling as though i was ridiculing winter and poking fun at her hidden vunerability. I live in Georgia; it hasn't snowed in six years, but that still doesn't mean i can't blame the blizzards up north for my chilly evenings down south. Was I at peace with winter after writing this? Of course not! But I enjoy imaginging winter's reaction if she ever read my poem.