I love snow.

I think my affection for this magnificent mass of crystallised water comes largely from my days in rural Aberdeenshire. Teenage vanity would force me to the bus stop in the depths of winter without a coat, and I would shiver in my little goth-boots until someone would yell from across the square, “Snow Day!” At this point, an excited buzz would ripple through the cliques of children – not dumb enough to have forsaken their Kappa track suit tops – and we would dissipate into the snowy mist.

Back at home, I would toss aside the homework I’d planned to do on the bus into school and go sledging, suddenly excited about dressing up like the Michelin Man in my quilted coat. Whether I remained jubilant whilst out largely depended on the type of snow – soft, powdery snow that meant fabulous sledging for kids on their plastic baking trays inevitably meant that my heavy wooden tobogan would sink into the soggy mud beneath and I would left at the top of the hill like some strange, beached tyre monster.  On the other hand, if the snow had been trodden into hard-packed ice, my waxed metal runners would make short work of the other kids’ sledges. I suppose it was the equivalent of driving a turbo-charged tank through a herd of Citroen AX’s – the plastic just didn’t stand a chance.

I don’t have a sledge anymore. My toboggan is entombed in the condensed contents of my father’s double garage, which now inhabit a space the size of a garden shed. Also, I think the Health and Safety people might object to the later additions of a cross-hair so that I could better aim at R-*.

Nowadays, after the initial excitement wears off, I find myself experiencing a strange sense of calm. The world looks softer – blanketed and still in the snow – and I feel myself accepting that things aren’t going to happen instantaneously. The icy weather brings with it a temporary patience, a short-lived ability to accept that some things are worth waiting for.

And so now I’m waiting – waiting for more snow, for S- to come home from work with some milk, for the kettle to boil and for the world to catch its breath. As soon as the snow melts the rush will begin again but for now I am content to just sit back and let things happen.

* R- was a nasty kid from the next village over who just so happened to share my birthday. I never forgave him for it. Also, he had a head that looked like an upright watermelon. He never forgave me for pointing that out…