It’s getting late and I’m sitting on my sofa, typing on my laptop and occasionally peeking out through the curtains at the snow as it falls outside.
I’ve always had a strange relationship with snow. It’s one of those things that means different things at certain points in your life.
As a child, it’s magical. Snow is an excuse to play outside for hours, sledging and chucking snowballs at your friends. Every time the weather forecast promised snow, you hoped for school to close, for an extra day of freedom.
A snow day meant a break from the routine and a chance to have fun.
But as an adult, your relationship to snow tends to change.
You learn to drive and become conscious of the roads and the traffic, of getting to the office, even though you’d rather be home in bed. You worry about the weather and listen nervously for updates from the weatherman.
Once the forecast for snow was a cause for excitement, now it’s a source of dread.
This winter, my feelings about snow have changed.
It’s been several years since we had any real snow in the town where I live, but this year there has been quite a bit. Not enough to cause real disruption, just enough to enjoy peaceful walks with the dog and that cosy feeling of curling up by the fire while the snow is falling outside.
Winter is coming to an end, but there’s still another spell of snow to get through.
And I’m happy that it’s here.
Of course, I’d prefer to enjoy it as I did over the Christmas holidays, but being at work has its moments too. My current office is on the seventh floor of our block so we have some fantastic views of the local landscape all covered in white and we can really appreciate the changes in the weather, as the sky darkens and the clouds swirl in.
So this winter, I’ve remembered what it means to wish for snow and to have the freedom to enjoy it. There’s something magical about that; it’s a feeling I’m keen to hold on to.
This year, the snow has only made my world more beautiful.