This week has to be topped off by snow.
Not a lot, only about 3 inches, but it is more about the timing of it.
At around 14:00hrs on Thursday the sky went black, the kitchen light went on, and a downpour started. Not the snow showers that were forecast, just, well it seems this way, the usual rain showers that we brits like to complain about. And it rained for a good couple of hours, intermingled with sleet. I was confident that if it did snow the ground was that wet it would not stick, but if it did it would not still be around for Saturday when my son arrives, we have yet to build a snowman or lob snowballs at each other, the timing of his stays has not been right, and winters seem to be wetter and more snow free than what I remember as a child.
22:00hrs and I glance out of the window to see snow falling, dancing as they slowly float to the ground. I look out and there is a slight coating on the tree branches but the pathway is just too wet for it to last as anything other than that pearlescent colour of slush. The lawn faired a little better with white islands where the snow sat above the still wet ground. I thought nothing of it and only occasionally looked out to watch the ‘snowfall dance’.
24:00hrs and the snow came down heavier, flurries being blown by the now increasing wind, the slow dance of earlier now a frenzy of activity. I looked down at Spot, “I don’t think you’re going to like this last toilet run!”, Spot just looked up from her bed with a look of “Really, I have just gotten comfy, do I have to?”. This is the routine for every last toilet run, she always needs to go and does not have the option of getting to the door, objecting to the weather, turning around and hanging on for a better time, something she does on a regular occurrence when it’s wet, cold, windy or any variant thereof. She went out and left her paw prints, christening the virgin snow, somehow this pleasure is lost on her; she came back desperately trying to wipe off the snow off her nose. The grass was white and the path was melting at a slower rate. If it keeps on like this it might just stick.
All this is nothing new though, as pleasurable as fresh fallen snow makes everywhere look to the viewer, snow is just snow.
01:00hrs, Friday, and I look out of the window and the snow has thinned out, Still falling, and the brightness of the snow filled sky, thanks to the full moon now being high up, matched if not surpassed the light from midday.
I stuck my head out of the window and with the occasional shudder where the wind blew snow down my neck, I watched the snow falling up the street and over the fields. I could see blades of grass sticking up through the snow, the colours of the now bent over children’s windmill. I could see the footprints where a wobbling drunk had ‘walked’ down the road on his way home and the foxes paw prints down the centre of it, its usual path. We could have gone out for a walk in the middle of the night and had better vision than at the start of this story and not required the torches frequently used after 18:00hrs.
Oh how I would like to be camping on a night such as this with a tarp overhead and a fire crackling in front. To be apart of nature at a time I would normally miss, and if I had not been awake at that time and seen the snow at its prime, I would have awoke to a more drab half melted world.
And did it stay for the visit of my son? No, only small piles remained.