Festive it may be, but I’ve about had enough of the snow right now. Not to mention the minus temperatures which penetrate this old house despite our efforts to barricade ourselves.
I wake in the morning aware that something icy is biting my ears and my nose end is indicating Siberia. The fun of pushing cars off the drive has waned, and ours needs de-freezing just so we can get in it. We slither our way up the white, single track lane to the main road praying nothing comes the other way and hope that panic buying hasn’t cleared the shop of milk!
My walks are like doing knee lifts as I drag my soaking legs in and out of it. And I crunch across the garden fetching logs and going to the compost having to de-frost everything before I can access it. We must be burning a shocking amount of fuel and I cringe for the planet.
But then I look at it with another eye and see something different.
Icicles hang down from the ridged tiles in glistening stalactites of ice. The fields are laid under a duvet of white as pristine as unwrapped presents. Brave stalks poke above it in places rattling icy decorations of their own. And the washing line is hung with frozen baubles. Red Robins and striking Blackbirds compete for the crumbs and the snow is a tartan with animal tracks.
But best of all children are playing out. How often do we see that? Lured away from technological entertainment by the snow they are sledging and building and snowballing with rosy faces and livelier eyes than they’d ever get from the Xbox or msn.
And the snow covered roofs, frosted trees, iced field gates and smooth white landscape remind me of all the romantic country Christmas cards I have ever gazed at and wished for. And here it is.