What Canada Means to ME

We were asked to write a poem about what Canada means to us, so I came up with this.
Enjoy :)

First thought: Cold.
The snow is pleasantly pretty, and sparkles with fantasies of towering snowmen,
Colossal forts gleam with an airy magnificence as they hide you and your strategic plans from view.
The stinging, gelid air torments the throat with reminders of icy wintertime,
For 3 months.
Stalactite-like icicles hang clear and drip with the honey-sweet words of Spring's promise,
Forming puddles alongside the rivers of melted snow; eager and rushing to continue on the cycle.
New boots, with the new smell of rubber and the gleam of freshly-bought, protect delicate toes from the frigid regions of the puddle.
Splash. All over your raincoat.
The rain and dissolving snow breathes with hope - at first.
Bleakness shuffles in with grey skies in tow, and misery loves company:
An invitation to the bird society was sent out, and now the party is in full swing.
Their raucous chorus greets ears with a message to wake up:
How welcome on a Monday morning.
Every morning.
Each bird song is a melodic interval towards the mild-mannered picnic days that lay ahead,
Singing of sunny days and warm clouds; sultry summers that will muffle all anxieties,
Fears will scurry away in bubbling creeks, yet to dry up in a drought-like heat.
After summer breeze-kissed smiles,
Humidity reigns supreme; nature's practical mind control.
But mellow days in the beach's sand soon follow, in lieu of the past harsh heat.
The Great Lakes lapping up the memories of footprints,
The beaches soon fade,
And the remarkable grand opening of Autumn takes place:
Shimmering curtains of multicoloured leaves drift to the ground, and lay down a welcoming mat for evening strolls.
The moon shines brighter now than ever.
Stars glitter through trees and the absence of leaves: they seem more multitudinous,
And their icy brilliance gifts the air with a crisp, refreshing feel of tranquility
Even accomplishment.
Stars glow brighter, bringing more briskness to the breeze; it breathes a foretelling of snow.
Chilled winds whisper these predictions in pink ears, and the murmurs spark ideas.
First thought: Cold.