There is something about snow, isn’t there? Something in the way it moves, it feels, it looks that captivates us. From a young age to the threshold of death, snow continues to be a magical, mystical phenomena that still holds the hearts of many. How many snowmen have been built? How many snowball fights initiated? How many photographs of snow laden trees have been taken? Countless.
As a young child it is the sheer feeling of joy that comes with snow, and the possibilities of snow. The ways in which to play with and enjoy it. As age increases, which it does tend to do, snow still mystifies us but you become too ‘cool’ to claim you like it because of anything other than the days off school it provides.
In young adulthood, snow can mean many things. It can be an inconvenience, or a magically calm moment in the midst of life’s chaos, but it is always beautiful. If you then have children of your own, the joy is vicarious. You know that snow will hold the same power over them as it once did you and that in itself causes your heart to rejoice.
Old age comes to all, and snow becomes something to be watched inside and less often participated in outside. There can be nothing more pleasant than being inside in the warm, whilst tender snowflakes scatter outside. There is still that vicarious pleasure born in a parent, seeing members of your family going out in the snow like you did once upon a time but no longer wish to do.
Few people dislike snow. Those who do tend to be people obsessed with convenience or practicality, or simple those who feel they have more important things to consider. There are also those who see the power of snow, the dangerous power. It has the power to trap, to isolate, and even to kill, and for anyone with experience, it is hard to see past that.
For me, snow is simply beautiful. It is nature in a pure form, bringing families together and providing friends with endless fun. It is one of the simplest pleasures in life, without complication or stress, only watching the snow fall.