Wednesday Writing

It’s time for the monthly church writing group and our prompt is: Write a Letter. It could be a letter to a grandchild, your past self, your future self, a child, or something like that. I have to say I struggled with this one, but last night it started to snow, again. I am so done with snow so I wrote at letter to the snow:

February 21, 2023

Dear Snow,

We’ve had our good times haven’t we? I remember first meeting you when I as just a boy scout and my whole troop came up one December to see you and play at your house.  We built a fort out of you and then made a huge snow man.  I still laugh thinking about Jimmy and Dave jumping in a large snow bank only to discover it was the scout master’s car covered in snow.  

Remember the snow ball fight?  I won because you showed me how to make snow balls faster than any of the other boys.  It was wonderful, the grey skies, gently falling white flakes, and the whole world covered in a giant wooly white blanket.  It was a magical world and I was so glad to meet you, even though I never understood why you wouldn’t come inside and sit next to the fire with us.  You just cried when I asked. Still, I just loved you.

We had some good times.  That skiing weekend.  That was when I learned about all the different sides of you, times when you’re soft and powdery, and when you’re solid and unmoving.  I don’t remember what I said that turned you into ice.  I told you I’d return, but you said you couldn’t wait and cried like a river.  My heart ached because I loved you so much.

I told you that my job took me to warm places and that I’d come and visit when I could.  You could never compromise on that.  I bought that large walk-in freezer so we could be together always, but you just said no.  I would have bought the emergency generator so the freezer would always be cold, but you just wouldn’t take the risk.  I don’t think I was asking too much – it would have only been for a few months of the year.

After that you just became vengeful.  I tried driving to your mountain home, but you just blocked the road and made it impossible.  I didn’t want to use the snow plow, but what choice did you leave me?  I was afraid you’d lose control and really physically hurt me.

But this is just the last straw.  I moved here to your mountains and can see your beauty covering the landscape with that gentle white blanket of yours.  You have come to my house, covered my yard with your silence and turned the trees into a winter wonderland.

But no matter how often I ask, you just won’t stop blocking the driveway and roads.  I’ve had to shovel you out of the way so I could just get my mail. You’ve even held my trash can shut so tightly I couldn’t throw out the garbage. It feels like you’re trying to suffocate me, to keep me from seeing my friends or just even going to get food.  I know you’ve never really understood the need I have for food, but you’ve never even really tried to understand me, have you? You just want me to become just like you, but I can’t.  I can’t go that far.

I really thought we could find a way, but I just can’t change that much and I know it’s wrong to try and change you.  

So I’m afraid that I have to tell you, we’re done.  We can’t be together any more.

It’s me, not you, I just can’t.

With all my regret,


About Andrew Reynolds

Born in California Did the school thing studying electronics, computers, release engineering and literary criticism. I worked in the high tech world doing software release engineering and am now retired. Then I got prostate cancer. Now I am a blogger and work in my wood shop doing scroll saw work and marquetry.
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27 Responses to Wednesday Writing

  1. Dave says:

    Great post, Andrew! The draw lies in your ability to animate the inanimate. Bringing snow to life, ha. Who would’ve ever considered it? Maybe you should’ve been one of those Disney “Imagineers”.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Debra says:

    Fabulous, Andrew. A wonderful piece! I laughed out loud at the notion of the freezer as a proposed “meeting place.” Hope you had the chance to read this to your other writing class participants!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hahaha!!! What a marvelous letter – I’m still laughing. (Ruefully, because we just got a foot of new snow last night.) 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Oh. My. Goodness. This is one of the most clever posts you’ve written! I love it!

    Liked by 2 people

  5. I love this, Andrew. Very clever, and the “it’s me, not you” cracked me up.
    Well written!

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Wonderful, so funny!!

    Liked by 1 person

  7. SusanR says:

    So original. Bet you’re the only one who didn’t write to a person.
    Snow is so fickle. Fun and friendly to kids. Downright mean to adults — unless they like skiing or snowboarding.

    Liked by 2 people

  8. jfwknifton says:

    That’s very creative….one of the best things you’ve ever written in my humble opinion.

    Liked by 2 people

  9. So creative. I still love snow, however. 🙂 Our relationship will go on forever . . . ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  10. I love it, Andrew.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. You seem a little bitter. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  12. Oh, this is so poignant! (And I love the way you spell grey.)

    Liked by 1 person

  13. David Foyle says:

    Great post!!!

    I feel your pain….

    Liked by 1 person

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