Sunday, 10 March 2013


I awoke this morning to a soft blanket of freshly-fallen snow, which was being replenished by swirling, frosty flakes cascading from the sky like an army of white-clad paratroopers.  "Must get that roof fixed!" I said to myself.  (Ho ho, what a wag.)

However, enough levity.  As I gazed at the wintry scene outside my window, I felt snug and warm and cozy.  (An all-girl band of my acquaintance - chortle, I'm a riot, me.)  Somehow, though, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd have to get up for school soon, despite the fact I'd left the hallowed halls of education a whopping 38 years ago.  (And despite it being a Sunday as well.)

What is it about snow that awakens the child inside of us?  Fifty years ago, it was the Great Winter of 1963, which caused quite a bit of disruption the length and breadth of Britain.  Having just turned four a few months before, I was completely unaware of it.  (The disruption that is - not the snow.)  I'd have been out, sledging down the nearby hill and enjoying myself.

As I've said before (on many an occasion), it's funny how an event can seem so far away and so recent at practically the same time.  In one sense it seems like only yesterday, and, in another, like a million years ago.  Think I'll dig out my JIM REEVES Christmas Album and sit at the window and watch the snow fall.

In the meantime, enjoy the evocative wintry scene by INGA MOORE (from The WIND In The WILLOWS) at the top of this post.  It comes from the chapter entitled DULCE DOMUM, which, roughly translated means "Home Sweet Home".

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