Snow weighing heavily in the gutters on the roofs. Snow lying wonkily along silhouetted branches. Snow feet deep on paths, hedges and pavements. Snow breathing, snow falling and snow settling on a new, stark landscape where nothing seems the same.
Old people, bent like sticks, wrapped up fruitlessly against the cold, struggle along the streets clutching packages of precious rations in their hands. With luck their tins and jars will last till the 'snap' is over - make a nice ham sandwich and a cup of tea against the cold! Breath rising in the cold house, saving the heating, they huddle next to the one bar on the heater.
Kids - blurs of colour aganst the white - slip and slide, their shrieks hanging in the cold air, static and frozen in time.
Cars, driven by the most intrepid and devil-may-care, slide and skid around the bends in the road, their tyres spurting sludgy snow onto those venturing out on foot.
And we, watching the snow falling, falling, falling tune our radios to the local stations to hear the latest on whether the school is open - radiant hope and exhilaration only a moment away for the children.
And it's still November.
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2 comments:
Beautiful Lowrie -esque picture here. Did it snow up on the beach at Low Newton?
Yes! Wonderful picture you painted with words. I read Pickwick Papers this Fall: bloody genius was Dickens.
If I ever come to England I will look up your mum's pub. We do like beer (and lattes for that matter).
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