Day 06: Chasing Seasons: Letters Between Summer and Winter

Day six of June Writing Challenge

6th: Draft a letter from summer to winter (or vice versa) detailing their love-hate relationship.

Letter from Summer to Winter

Dearest Jack (I mean, Winter—but I know you hate pet names, so I'll keep it formal, for now),

Why are you always like this? So cold, so distant, so… frost-covered. You let me get close for fleeting moments, and then—poof—you disappear, pulling away like a chilly gust slamming a door in my face. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? And don’t say you don’t care. You may try to act indifferent, but I know you too well—I’ve learned to read between your sharp winds and icy silences.

Look, I know I can come on strong. I burn, I blaze, I overwhelm—yeah, I get it; I’m not exactly subtle. But I’m like this because I care. I want to be close to you, even if it means melting a little of your icy armor (which, by the way, is impressive but exhausting). I see you trying to remind everyone how tough and unyielding you are—storms, ice, those bitter gray skies—but beneath it all, you have your moments of still beauty. The way you let the snow fall quietly at night, how you pause the world in silence, even if just for a second.

That’s why you fascinate me. You’re nothing like me, and maybe that’s why I keep chasing you every year. Isn’t that kind of… poetic? You run, I follow. Then I have to leave when you show up in full force because, well, we can’t exist together, can we? But part of me wonders—do you… ever wish we could overlap? Or is that just me being too warm, too bright, too much?

I know you won’t say it outright, but there is a warmth underneath all that frost. You let it slip sometimes (even if you don’t mean to). Like how the sight of my sunsets still lingers in the early mornings of your frosty reign. Or how you let my memory linger in the way your skies blush, like a stolen ember glowing faintly behind all that gray.

Don’t think I’ll stop chasing you, Jack Frost. After all, what’s summer without a little impossible dream? And who knows, maybe one day we’ll meet somewhere perfectly balanced in the dance of our seasons. Until then, I’ll keep trying to thaw that heart of yours, no matter how many snowballs you throw my way.

Yours stubbornly (and warmly),

Summer :sun_with_face:

Letter from Winter to Summer

Summer,

You’re relentless. As ever.

Do you ever—just once—consider turning it down a notch? You show up, blinding and blazing, like the whole world needs to revolve around you (and fine, technically it does, but I’m not about to stroke your ego louder than the cicadas do). Everything about you is loud—your heat, your energy, your presence. It’s exhausting to watch, let alone endure. And don’t get me started on how clingy you are with those lingering sunsets of yours. It’s like you’re showing off, trying to outshine the calm serenity I bring.

Still… there is something about you that I can’t entirely ignore. I won’t lie: your laughter—though obnoxious at times—echoes in a way that lingers longer than I’d care to it. You light the world up in a way I can’t, no matter how much shimmer I pack into a snowy evening or a frosted morning. The way you set the world alive with flowers, beaches, and golden light—it’s magical, even if way over the top.

But let’s be honest, your fire, your unrelenting heat? It doesn’t last. It can’t. You burn and blaze, but by the end of your reign, even you can tell the exhaustion starts seeping in. That’s when you fade, when your time gives way to me—a necessity, wouldn’t you say? I bring the balance you can’t. The calm after your storm. The rest after your relentless romp. People crave the cool stillness I offer after you’ve scorched everything in sight.

And yet… even I can it something feels

off when you’re gone. Don’t go thinking I miss you, though. I’m not sentimental like you are. But there’s something… unsteady about my snow-laden feet when I don’t feel you tugging at my edges, trying to linger just a little longer. You have this infuriating way of making everything more; even in fading, you refuse to go quietly. And, as much as I hate to say it, I wouldn’t want you to.

Maybe that’s why I let you stick around longer than necessary every year. Why I show a trace of blush in my evening skies before the moon takes over. But don’t get used to it—I’ll never be as warm or open as you. That’s your thing, not mine. I’m the cold shoulder to your fiery embrace, and let’s keep it that way.

So fine, keep playing your games, and I’ll keep mine. You rush toward me. I retreat. You fade, and I take over. It’s the way it’s always been, the way it always will be. Maybe there’s some poetry in that. But don’t get carried away—I still think you’re obnoxious.

Chilled regards,

Winter 🥶