Out of all the physical conditions of water coming down from the sky, snow is arguably the most beautiful one. Naturally, if we don’t count the calm rhythm of minor rain falling down while one does not have to go anywhere, stay at home with a good book.
It has been snowing steadily for the past twenty-four hours. No, it is not a heavy pour, but rather persistent snow that covered absolutely everything. It must be no more than five centimetres of it covering the ground. Everything in white pattern drapes making the not covered surfaces look darker than usual.
Parents are pulling sleighs mounted by their young children. Elderly ladies trying to keep their balance and moving as if on small cadence. But generally no one else out. Even the traffic looks somewhat absent from the streets. The city is still coming back from the holiday season.
The weather forecast is promising the snow will not be stopping until Monday. Chances are that those five centimetres will add quite a few more on top. And this is promising tremendous fun for young and old in the city park nearby.
I opt to stay at home and look through the window every time my stare lifts off from the laptop or the book I am keeping my mind engaged with. It is cosy and warm. Not so much outside where the temperature is currently slightly under zero.
Every year it snows less and less. Or at least, this is my experience. Of course, I couldn’t expect much snow when I was living in Shanghai, but ever since I came back, there wasn’t as much of it as I remember from the first two decades of my life.
And I miss the snow. Not today obviously, but throughout the winter days when there is none. I appreciate seeing it falling, walking on it or sliding. I even forget about the aftermath of snowing – the ice, the dirt and the difficulty to get anywhere in proper shape and style. This is unimportant. Snow is.
Photo credit: Pablo by Buffer
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