England Wears Her Winter Coat
Astrange, eerie light fills the room, creeping resolutely behind the curtains and bringing with it a sense of anticipation, maybe tinged with fear: a different, unreal sensation, but not unknown.
I fling back the curtains and smile to myself. Tayfa, one of my dogs, lets out a bark of pleasure. She loves snow. It is banked up in the garden before us, and drifted high against the old stone walls. She rushes to the door, desperate to get out and to throw herself in careless abandonment. Ginza is older, more sedate. She waddles slowly over to the doorway, but with the same gleam in her canine eyes. Over the threshold she goes, up to her belly in snow and the years slip away as she rolls around in pure joy.
The garden has been transformed, every little blemish covered with a layer of pristine white velvet. The trees bow their noble heads under the unusual burden. They look as if they might snap under the weight of the fallen snow, but of course they will not. They are just holding it in place to mould nature’s beautiful landscape.
Long icicles like diamond pendants hang from the eaves of the house and the roof of the shed. There are even two miniature ones adorning the bird table. Everywhere is white. The early morning sunshine slides softly over the lawn, filtering into the creases in the snow and reflecting back with the same eerie light that first forced me to look outside.
Winter at last. After many days of dreary rain and biting winds, the forecasted first snows of winter have arrived. Lacking my dogs’ enthusiasm, I turn up the fire in readiness for my return and don several layers of warm clothing.
The dogs need no calling… we are off, out for our morning ramble, accompanied by several birds who thought I should have cleared the snow from their breakfast bird table and fed them before we went! One of the cats sits ready poised for flight on the gatepost. This “chase the cat” is part of Tayfa’s morning ritual, greatly enjoyed by both of them although the cat always wins.
This morning, however, to the cat’s amazement, she is ignored. The delights of the snow have turned the dogs into simple-minded clowns. A single snowflake landing on Tayfa’s nose turns her from a Karabash Shepherd Dog, who is bigger and heavier than any Great Dane, into a cavorting lithe spirit. A tiny robin, red breast aglow, lands on a fragile branch alongside me, sprinkling tiny particles of snow with his minuscule feet.
We reach the canal in record time. It is frozen over. The ice looks milky-white with sluggish water beneath. The reeds stick through it like needles in a pin cushion, each with its own coat of ice.
Everything is different now. Gone are the purple juice-filled blackberries, cascading tantalisingly over the wall, just out of reach. Gone are the late summer flowers, tossed around the bank in vivid slashes. There are no perfectly shaped fragile butterflies tripping from flower to flower, no dragonflies darting like silver arrows, burnished blue in their speed. Gone in fact are the colours, the soft hues of autumn, muted and comforting with fallen leaves like gossamer silk, devoid of moisture and blown gracefully around in a gentle breeze. This is now a white fairyland, soft and full of shadows, yet glistening too, each snowflake like a coloured canvas as the fingers of sun touch it and reflect back off its still whiteness like a prism or rainbow. Here you keep still, as if afraid to disturb such perfect peace. Maybe one harsh sound would bring that perfect layer of snow tumbling down. The dogs, however, have no such illusions. They scamper everywhere, destruction in their wake.
Ginza, whose eyes are not as keen as they used to be, blunders clumsily through a snow-covered bramble bush, and rolls unceremoniously down the bank and onto the ice! Fortunately, it holds her weight. She tries to stand, all four legs splaying helplessly. One sharp well-aimed grab of her collar hauls her sheepishly to safety.
Several yards away two mallards are repeatedly banging their ineffectual beaks on the ice. Their beaks, rounded at the ends, are having little or no effect on the glass-like sheet. I think tonight’s feed is going to be an important one. I’d better find plenty of goodies for them.
Suddenly it starts to snow. At first only an odd flake. One lands on my glove. They say that no two are the same, and when you look at the delicate intricate patterns, you will easily believe it. The snow increases. Ginza’s coat, which is pitch black, quickly resembles a white mottled rug. Her enthusiasm is waning a little. She does not like snow in her face. Tayfa tries to catch every snowflake. I always knew that the dog was crackers! Time for home. Reluctantly they obey my whistle.
With increasing vigour I head back for home, to warmth, comfort and breakfast. But the beauty outside the window will be waiting later. I know, because there is still that light of wonder on the snow.