Our view: This cold relationship is over; just go away

We found a soggy letter washed up on the shore of the St. Louis River in Scanlon this week and thought we'd share it with readers who likely can relate:

Dear Old Man Winter,

Let's just start off with this old saw: It's not you, precisely. It's me. We need to break up.

Well, maybe it is a bit more you. Yes, you've been rather warm the past six months, and you are just being you when it comes to, well, wintry stuff. But lately you've been messy, and I've asked you time and again to clean up your act, especially since the vernal equinox in March.

I guess maybe the last few weeks have sealed the deal in my mind. You tried to make amends, offering flowers and a warm embrace, cleaning up your piles of stuff. But then you just got messy again, and cold. Your erratic behavior just has me spent.

And traipsing over your leavings this past Easter sort of set this all in my mind. The kids had to wear snowshoes on their egg hunt, of all things. And you've become so windy I can hardly get a word in these days.

Don't get me wrong. I have adored the ski trips, the skating, sledding, and the walks. All of it. But you've worn out your welcome. It's time we both moved on.

I know you say I don't mean it, that you'll come knocking on my door in six months and I will let you back into my life. It's happened before. It could happen again.

But for now, it's a clean break. No phone calls, no "accidental" run-ins at the store or up at Gordy's. I frankly just don't want to see you anymore.

So please respect my wishes and make yourself scarce. There's plenty of fish in the sea, they say, and maybe you should just leave town and travel a bit. I hear South America and Australia are nice. I'd even go in on your airfare, anything to just be rid of you.

I need to psychologically heal. I need some time with my sun. I want to bury my toes in grass and sand and cleanse my soul of you.

I do love you, and always will. Sometimes, distance can make the heart grow fonder. I think 9,000 miles will suffice.

I will be OK. And I know you will be. You're strong willed, almost to a fault, so I know you will only come out of all this only stronger.

It's a strength I may or may not come to terms with when you come around again. If I don't answer the door this fall, it's because I've moved to Hawaii. And don't you dare come there looking for me.