Snow is such an unknown to me, and so forgotten to Adam. The snow
has stuck to the ground, something everyone here dreads and I absolutely love.
The snow flakes were enormous on Friday. I wasn't expecting it to fall, not
twice in one week. If you were to press your thumb to your index finger and
make a circle, that would easily be the size of the falling snow flake, for
hours and hours they fell, drifting through the air, so noncommittal, with
almost no purpose but to float.
The landscape is completely transformed when the snow sticks.
Skeletons of trees, black as night propped up against heavenly white fields.
Magical, wonderous.
Standing in the dining room at work, in the restaurant, looking
out at the falling flakes is so mesmerising, my mind starts to wander. Suddenly
I'm imagining a large industrial sized fan, one they would use on a movie set,
and bags and bags of white chicken feathers. Some poor boy is standing by the
roof of the hotel, with a ladder propped up against the wall, chucking
handfulls of chicken feathers into the blast of the huge fan. I'm imagining it
as part of an elaborate play we have to put on for the guests, they book a
weekend trip to the Yorkshire Dales and of course they have requested snow, and
paid more for the
privilege.
If it has to be winter, we might as well have it bitterly cold and
a few feet of snow. There is so much wonder in snow. The depression that is
brought on by winter, melts away with the falling snow.
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