I’m sure many of you are sick of the sight of it but I’ve not had many opportunities to see snow (to be precise, twice) so when it snowed on Boxing Day while I was visiting my family in the UK I was delighted. That the snowfall coincided with First Born’s first night in the UK – and his first ever experience of snow – made it all the more exciting.
As the first flakes fluttered down we all rushed outside, immediately built a snowman and then gathered as much snow as we could to throw puny snowballs at each other. Our laughter and screams of hilarity drew confused neighbours to their kitchen window and we laughed even more when we heard one of them comment “Oh, it’s OK. They’re foreign”.
The following morning my Dad took us all for a long walk around Shire Hill. I love the crunchy noise the snow makes when you walk on it!
The snow had hardened by then but that didn’t make the views any less spectacular.
More snow was flung around.
And again the neighbours came to have a look.
Half way up the hill we found this poignant memorial and we stood still for a moment, the only sounds coming from the wind whistling through the trees and the occasional plaintive bleat from the sheep.
We all felt a little sobered, so it was a great relief to the eyes to see a small splash of colour among the white to cheer us up. First Born’s reaction was delightful – “But that’s so English!”.