Magic of snow worth hardships

Waking up to see the trees houses and roads covered with pristine snow is somehow magical, and as Christmas only days away it has arrived just at the right time. On the down side, all but essential services are suspended, schools shut, airports grounded, and trains at a standstill.

On the plus side, scores of excited children out making snowmen, sledging down the many hills and slopes in parks and fields, and mum and dad joining in with the snowball fights.

A trip out to visit the family has now escalated into a military exercise, survival equipment is hurriedly packed into the car, wireless reports avidly listened to, and the internet browsed to catch up on the motorway and road reports. We received the text message and we here at home were relieved that the girls had arrived in Bristol safety.

A walk to the shops through eight inches of snow in the morning can be fraught with danger, kerbs are invisible, and cars crawling along slip and slide, and occasionally slew sideways, putting pedestrians in danger. The walk back is just as perilous, the now compacted snow has now hardened into ice and slipping and sliding is the real danger.

Out in the now snow covered garden, the bird feeders are all but smothered in soft snow, and the water trays and bird bath is frozen solid, And so the task of accommodating our fathered friends numbs the fingers and freezes the ears, but we are rewarded by the dozens of small birds that appear from nowhere and franticly devour seeds and nuts.

I am amazed at how much a snow shovel of damp snow weighs, every scoop seems heaver than the last one, and so the next hour or so sees me slowly clearing wind blown banks of snow off the drive, and depositing it on the grass, and the borders. Looking out along the lane, its only the menfolk, no doubt chided on by their other halves, are out, a sea of winter jackets, black woolly hats and snow shovels are feverishly moving tons of the stuff from A to B and passing folk smile and comment on the coming of the flakily sunshine.

We do not get too much snow here in middle England, but when we do, everything stops for the duration, children love it, parents and shopkeepers suffer it, and public transport endures it. Nothing can take away the magical sight of new fallen snow in a suburban garden, and for that all the perceived hardships are worth it.

Tony Levy

Wednesfield