Last week, we were surprised with one of the UK’s rarest gifts; snow. In light of this, I thought I’d write a short description about the snow, as I found my surrounding landscapes truly beautiful. Similarly, the snow also brought a general happiness to the week, and so I made sure to include one of my favourite activities in the description- sledging! I’m not the greatest creative writer, but I saw the snow as a great stimulus to test my skills and hopefully I didn’t do too badly… Enjoy!
I draw my blind open and I see a flash of white, before my eyes adjust to the beauty before me. It has snowed. My brain seems to be in a panic as it tries to distinguish the usual landscape my window views. My garden seems unrecognisable. The sun is positioned high in the sky at one o’clock, and some lucky snowflakes get to glisten as it shines on them. My chest rises as I take some deep breaths to appreciate the immense jewel before me. I wonder how many others are feeling the same as me; stood at their window in silence, as this sight needs no words. The trees that had been withered and bare now have a coat to comfort them, and the dismal, bricked buildings now stand proudly painted white. The hills boast the thickest mask and what had been the fences of fields create the illusion of ski tracks. The world around me is consumed by one of nature’s wonders and I smile to myself as I spot the sledges stacked up on the patio.
The air is crisp in a way that I imagine oxygen would smell if it was given a scent. My eyes threaten to release a spring of tears as they protest to the sudden change in the brightness of my surroundings. I feel a breeze around the top of my chest where my coat isn’t quite done up and my snood is failing to cover. My feet feel heavy in my snow boots, as each movement is laboured with their weight and the footprints that clings to you on every step. I acknowledge passers by, whose rosy cheeks could act as lampposts when the light will inevitably dim, and I feel at peace with the joy the snow seems to bring everyone. Some say ‘Hello!’, some simply nod, and some are followed by snotty children whose sledging expiry date has clearly passed. As I reach the top of the hill I am met with euphoria; I chuckle to myself as if this cannot be real.
My plastic sledge moans as I slouch down on it, as if trying to remind me that it probably wasn’t designed for a seventeen year old girl. I grip the faded blue, flimsy strings in front of me, holding them like reigns so I might appear to know what I’m doing. My brother and I exchange nods of encouragement; our signal to go. I push my feet down into the snow, trying to gain as much force as possible before the descent. I bring my legs up off the ground, and the sledge seems to lift itself and I feel as though I am drifting up off the hill. The wind focusses on stealing my hat, so my face only encounters a small, pleasant breeze. I can feel myself picking up momentum and excitement rushes through my body. I cheer as I dodge people, dogs and trees and laugh at how slow and sad I must look to so many observers. The sledge and I jolt in different directions as we soar over sticks and bumps but I don’t feel the bruises I am causing. I continue hurtling down the slope but I am only smiling, and I think that I will stay smiling for the rest of the day.