According to my sources (that would me looking out of the window), it’s currently snowing very very gently. It’s been snowing since about 4 o’clock this afternoon and whilst I’d happily sacrifice the playdate with friends planned for tomorrow morning if the world was now white, wintry and buried under several feet of fluffy white stuff, the current scant dusting would suggest that Jack Frost has been idling at his lessons and should try harder.
We had a couple of centimetres overnight on Monday; enough to blanket the garden and force the foliage to bow down but it was slushy wet stuff, and when the morning’s snowflakes turned to lunchtime rain and afternoon sun it was all gone by the evening.
Kitty was initially curious; she has seen snow before, but possibly not frequently enough to remember it so I bundled a pyjama-clad little girl into her waterproofs and welly boots, tucked Elma up by the window where she could see us, and put on all of the knitwear I could find in the lounge to head out and play.
Perhaps it was the poor quality of the snow, at least, that’s what I’m telling myself, because after some initial exploration when I asked her what she thought of this wonderful new plaything the answer came back loud and clear:
And as each flake gently melted in some rare afternoon sunshine and trickled down to puddle in the already saturated garden, we passed the time making snowmen,