It snowed today. It snowed all day.
I was at work and my son was at home with a sore throat and a bad cough. He rolled down the blinds because it was too depressing watching everyone playing in the snow, dragging their sledges back from the park, laughing and shouting, while he was stuck inside and in pain.
I love the snow. When I was little, there was an enormous, artificially constructed hill behind my grandparents’ apartment which all the neighbourhood children would flock to as soon as the first snow fell. We would stay out for hours. Some of us with old wooden sledges, some with plastic ones with little steering wheels, some just with plastic bags. Everyone shared, everyone had fun, everyone knew where the best spots were for the fastest run down the hill.
When I finally came back inside, my grandmother would always be waiting with hot chocolate and cake. Hot chocolate with whipped cream, of course. This is Denmark after all.
I hope fervently that the snow will stay, at least until Sunday. I hope we can build a snowman, slide down a hill together and then go inside, fingers and toes numb with cold, to drink hot chocolate.
There’s an elusive warmth to snow.
In the meantime, I got to walk home in the snow. Just as the light was fading. I stopped at the bakery for cakes. The world seemed so peaceful.
Outside the snow is still falling. The temperature is still dropping.
Perhaps – just perhaps – we will get to build a snowman after all.