I’m on school camp in the middle of Spring and have to be up in six hours for tomorrow’s adventures. It’s a quarter to midnight and I need to go to the toilet. As I pass the window my eyes are diverted outside as I notice the rain has changed. It’s snow. Not snow flakes but the mushy kind of snow that is still damp from the rain, but that is cold enough to leave blobs of slush on every surface it lands on. Everyone else in the cabin is asleep but I need to share this news with someone, anyone!
Just like I did when I first saw snow falling. It was 6am, I was up and about getting ready for my temp job as a secretary when I was living in Vancouver. I was 25 at the time and grew up in Melbourne, so witnessing falling snow was a rarity for me. But I had to share this special moment with someone and decided to send my parents a text. Not thinking of the time difference or that they’d hear my message whilst sleeping. Yet they woke, in a panic seeing it was me, and I can assure you they read that text with more relief than excitement.
So what is it about snow that is so magical? Is it because it is something so foreign to me? The winter I lived in Vancouver turned out to be the highest snowfall they’d had in 20 or so years. And I loved it. The residents hated it. Shoveling snow, cars buried, bus routes diverted, slipping on icy footpaths, layers upon layers of clothing; I loved it all.
I think the actual scene of these white blobs descending in slow motion from the sky is what captivates me so much. It transforms a dark sky into one lit up with fairy lights, a calm descends with each snowflake and a hush falls over everything.
I’m not oblivious to the hazards snow can cause. But for this moment, now lying here gazing out my room’s window, I share my excitement of seeing it, with you.