THE SMELL OF SNOW
We didn’t get that much snow when we lived in Norfolk, but I remember those days when we did; vividly. I also remember our friends saying that one day they threw water in the air on a cold night and it came down frozen and how impressed I was and how now I don’t believe it. Finding these happy memories makes me want to look closer at the past, to peel away the clouds that obscure some wonderful times.
THE SMELL OF SNOW
An earthy taste, as though the snow has absorbed the smell of the soil
Not soft like ice cream as we’d hoped, but gritty, almost.
Squeezing it so the moisture runs out and it turns hard and smooth; chalk white
“Hey! They’ve put stones in their ones!”
Caught in the eye; flash of white, hot, freezing pain.
An ice-cold trickle down my collar, between my shoulder blades.
Scraping the snow out only presses it closer to my skin.
Falling; snow like dry flour over my sleeves.
The gaps in my boots filling up, full to the brim like toothpaste tubes,
Boiling hot and soaked with sweat.
Having my face rubbed in it, all scratchy and cold. Getting cross.
Twirling in circles on the red sledge roundel; yelling with my heart in my mouth.
Trudging home; the string of the sledges making white lines on our red fingers.
Puddles in the kitchen, snow falling out of our upended boots,
Wet hair; clumps of ice on our socks
Given a towel; sent upstairs for dry clothes.
“That was great! I want to go out again.”
Sweet tea, Christmas cake, telly on, the dog twitching by the fire.
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(Photo: pebbles in ice on the beach at Ardmore; Jan 2021)
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