I awoke early one morning recently.
One of my daughters, whispering so as not to wake my husband who slept deeply after a bad night of coughing, said: “I know it’s early, but do you want to go out for a walk before everyone else goes out?”
I didn’t need to be asked twice; I knew all too well that the glorious snow had settled outside and the world was sleeping under a white blanket.
I gave myself a little stretch, glanced at the bedside clock. Just turning 7am, before pulling on some warm clothing and going downstairs to grab my phone.
I knew exactly just what this walk entailed. We were women on a mission on this cold Sunday morning. The first step outside and the coldness in the air stung at my face as the snow gently kissed the sleepiness away.
We walked carefully along the road, not knowing where the curb and the road met. The snow lay thicker in some parts than others where the wind had carried it dancing widely along.
Cudworth was still asleep apart from the odd people that were trying to get their cars out, I’m guessing to go to work. I wanted to tell them to leave their cars, phone in a snow day and whilst they’re up and out go for a walk and breathe in all the beauty around them.
We took photos as we made our way towards our destination. Although - to no avail - we tried to help push an elderly gentleman who had gotten his car stuck in the snow as he, I presume, was trying to call for a newspaper.
Towards the park we ventured. Oh, I can honestly tell you all that the pure beauty of the view that lay ahead of us actually made my heart beat a little faster.
The gates were decorated with the most dazzling display of snow. The trees were hung with branches that carried the weight of this glorious snowfall sheltering the ground beneath and we both felt that we were privileged to have had the chance to walk along the virginal, snowy path.
And then we stopped. Not stopped to do anything. Just stopped walking. Stopped talking. Almost for a few seconds stopped breathing. And we both listened. The silence was deafening. There is no other silence as the silence when the world is covered with snow.
It’s almost as if nature is telling us that we must drink in the moment. Feel the cloak of peace and listen to only our hearts beating. This is one of my most favourite moments in time. Time when the trees, the flowers, the birds, the world is wrapped up in a white blanket, and sleeping, and to feel a part of it is somehow a gift from the universe.
We both took lots of photos silently moving through the snow, but both treading carefully as though we were afraid of disturbing the sleeping earth.
As we arrived at the end there were signs of life - our world was waking up. We saw people pulling sledges with excited children on them, laughing out loudly. We saw the tracks of cars. We saw the small pawprints of what could have been a cat as it padded along the street.
The streetlights turned off as we approached our own street and for a moment, a moment that would soon be lost in time, I felt that the play that we had both experienced had come to an end.
The curtain would close, and the audience would begin to move. But I can’t help but think just how lucky we were. For we had a front-row seat. We felt it. We saw it. We heard it. We experienced it in all its white, soft, magical glory.
