Yesterday I lamented the death of Summer
today I celebrate the birth of Winter

Summer is easy
Summer is full of sitting, and talking, or - in truth - laying, and not talking
Summer is full of simple wardrobes and simple syrup
Summer is full of expansive days and fleeting, imaginary nights

Winter is hard
But hard is not bad
Daylight escapes us
And distances grow longer
But successes are more rewarding
And adventures in sharper focus
Our floors grow cold
And we forget our backyards
But we hold tighter and appreciate companionship

We mourn the loss of Summer innocence and Summer ease
But we celebrate the bonds of Winter's toils
And, of course, we'll do it all again next year