Photograph by Annie Spratt
The snow dumped yesterday. Without warning. Or maybe there was a warning, we just didn’t take note of it as we spent the weekend cuddled and huddled, anticipating the change by preemptively hibernating.
People seemed put off by it. Slush, snow, cold, complaints aplenty. I spent a few hours outdoors. Some with walking sticks in hand, looking like a skiier wading through the banks and salt. Some moments armed with a shovel, and some with a leash in my gloved hand, my northern rescue coming to life in the powder.
The city has a blanket, if only for a few hours. Too soon, too cold, too much - I love it too. It’s beautiful and romantic and makes everything feel quiet and close. There’s no urgency to leave the house and an uncertain blurring effect. A haze of coats and hats, a pale white blue covering what was lush, insulating what was alive. Little tracks around the backyard and a sparkle when the streetlight hits the ground just so.
We accepted it all as a signal to start watching Christmas movies.