We have had a lot of snow this winter and I have only enjoyed it for a total of five seconds. Generally it is annoying. When I open my blinds one morning and first see that white sheet I sigh and for a moment think that it is pretty. Not that pretty though. It looks the same every year, I’ve seen it all before and so I turn to groaning at the prospect of a prolonged and disastrous walk to the bus stop to sit on a wet slow bus only to find half the shops are closed because half of England can’t cope with it. Life goes on for many but just with a massive inconvenience in place. I haven’t even played in the snow this year. Not one snow angel. Well, I might have thrown a snowball… however even this had disastrous consequences when it might have hit my granddad and might have gone down his shirt. Not fun for either of us.

Nonetheless, as I said there were a few moments just before I wrote this that I appreciated it tonight. Sat on my window ledge I looked out into my garden. The snow sat there still, modestly for once. Not glittering in the sun, just peaceful and at home. I’d never looked at snow like this before. Usually it’s falling all around me, blinding me or being kicked about under my feet. Tonight it sits there, not centre stage but second to the moon and the crisp air. I lift my blind and look back at it again and realise that it really isn’t harming me. I feel like it’s a naughty child that has calmed down and now sits quietly looking at me with its charms and I can’t help but weaken and appreciate them for all that they bring me…

The moment has passed and I am back to feeling  pretty damn unimpressed that the snow means high heels are probably a no-no Christmas Eve for me. However, tomorrow I think I might take a wander in the garden, perhaps make a mini-snowman if I’m in a good mood and remember why and when the snow used to bring me so much joy. After all, I’ll probably miss it when it’s gone.