Monday, 20 February 2012
Just when we thought that the winter would break into spring without the slightest sight of snow, we awoke to a dusting of white.
It wasn't snow of the prolific or picturesque variety - just a smattering of white that sat tentatively on branches and blades of grass and looked certain to melt at any moment.
But its beauty was so unexpected that I squealed like a child when I looked through the window, and when the sun broke through, making the grey world gleam, I couldn't eat my breakfast fast enough in my anticipation to wrap John up warmly and introduce him to the snow.
We watched him glower as it crunched beneath his wellies, we watched him grimace as he felt its coldness on his fingertips and we watched him grumble as he sat in it and found it impossible to get up.
We built the world's smallest snowman and watched his grumbles turn to giggles, and we walked around and around our garden watching our feet making tracks as we went.
And even though it wasn't the sort of snowfall that I've been secretly hoping for all winter and it was mostly melted by lunchtime, I was so very grateful for this little dusting of white, and so very pleased that we were able to end the holidays with a little smattering of magic.