The unmistakable silence of snow
I opened my eyes that December morning, recognising a long remembered feeling.
Silence blanketed everything and the world seemed to be holding its breath.
No low rumbling from the nearby motorway and the skies, blue for once, clear of the usual
droning sound of a spy plane that normally circles around us daily, acting as a kind of wake
up call.
I crept to the window as I had done as a child. First pulling back the curtains then
lifting the roller blind that blocks the street lights glare.
Finally it’s there, the wonder of an unexpected snowfall. As I gazed out on the virgin
snow its purity dazzled back at me. Not a mark in the unbroken duvet-like covering.
Everything evened out as if covered in thick cream.
Pigeons and doves perched in the nearby trees, feathers fluffed up against the cold.
They gaze out hungrily from the branches, food I’d carefully left out the night before buried
under the mounds of clean snow. Even the noisy crows and magpies, the usual early
visitors to our garden, were absent that day.
Snuggling back into bed with my morning coffee, courtesy of my ever thoughtful
husband, we both look out in childlike wonder.
“Can’t believe that yesterday that field was a sea of muddy brown earth with just the
tips of newly sprouting winter wheat flushing it with green haze.” he sips his tea, smiling.
“There!” I shout grabbing the binoculars that sit beside our bed “All the deer are out.
Not just the doe and her three yearlings but the stag’s there too. How amazing they look
against the white backdrop.”
We watch them as they pronk across the vast field kicking up their hind legs against
the deep snow.
We see these deer most days and wonder at the fact that we still have such a
fantastic view to set us up for our daily routine. That day it was more than special.
The snow was gone in just a few days leaving only small drifts beneath the
hedgerows, waiting for more snow to follow as the old saying goes. It never did come back
that year though and each winter I still wish for just a little snowfall to make me a child again.
Jane Bryenton
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