Waking up on a morning after a nightfall of snow is different. The sound of footsteps trudging towards the Underground Station, the echo of the canine "morning all" on the early shift constitutional outing, the distant rumble of the train tracks, the dawn chorus of birdsong, the wake-up routine of ducks on the canal outside; all are silenced.
It is as if a blanket of serenity has enveloped us all: a sense of wonder at nature's ability to blurr the edges of our lives into muffled shapes, the virginal innocence, the invitation to play.
It's 20 years since we've had this much snow in London. I'd almost forgotten how beautiful it is.
Millie-Pup could barely wait to go out with Nick first thing, and returned with snowballs along her undercarriage looking for all the world like a post-modern Christmas tree. We've had over a foot of snow (that's 30cm in new money) so she surfs through it like a dolphin, having just as much fun.
After lunch we made a Snow Goddess in our garden, with a little help from Millie-Pup.
The snow came on Groundhog Day
A week on, and the last vestiges of the lingering snow are slowly ebbing away to reveal the most perfect canopy of snowdrops. I planted them there several years ago when my life was at a low point to remind me always that even in the darkest moments there are the delightful shoots of life.
