We have a wee tradition, Dave and I.
Possibly completely against logic, when it snows at night (or has been snowing all day), we go for a walk.
Snow walking is one of my favourite traditions. It’s so quiet and still. The night-time is brighter with the white reflecting everywhere, and the streets are empty. Up on Corstorphine Hill it’s thick enough to squish your wellies right into; the pools of water are lovely cracky ice and the snow is untouched and powdery.
Playparks are empty and the snow is ripe for kicking. I have a “snow dance”, Dave says, where I run in a zigzag motion, kicking all the soft powdery snow about in glee. Kicking snow is one of my favourite things to do ever, and an untouched front garden or suburban grassy patch is just too tempting. It must be pushed and kicked and picked up and thrown, or flattened down into an angel.
This winter has been a far cry from 2009/2010 where the snow seemed never-ending and piled high up on cars and blocked our doorways. But this winter has still had the beauty of everything being white occasionally. Perfect, white, stillness.
I’m not overly thrilled about driving in it, especially when it’s icy and all of your reflexes/natural driving reactions prove to be wrong. No sudden braking, no quick turning, pull away in second gear.
But walking. Walking hand in hand in our gloves and hats and scarves and our “grippiest” shoes. Walking up the hill and looking out over Edinburgh or to a white, unspoiled park for angels and kicking and silliness.
We miss Jack, as it was great talking him out in the snow. But these walks are special still anyway. We talk, we walk, we skip, we snuggle, we occasionally snow fight. But we mainly just walk. Breathing the cold air in through our noses, playing in the snow and enjoying the season.
Even if it is supposed to be spring.
Coming soon: Job changes, shift living, getting rid of clothes, thoughts on shul and many more (sorry for the silence lately, work has been mental!).…xxx