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M

y parents have a photograph of me as

a child. I’m about eight in it and next

to me is my best friend. We’re in the

doorway of our old house and, behind

our heavy fringes and freckles, we’re

grinning from ear to ear.

I can remember that picture being taken; we’d just

found out that school had been cancelled, torn off our

itchy uniforms and hurriedly dressed in the warmest

clothes we could find. I’m wearing mismatched gloves,

a tatty bobble hat and dungarees. My friend has

grabbed a thin coat and her sister’s wellies – she’s

holding two empty feed bags from her dad’s farm. We

look cold and impossibly cheerful. It’s snowed heavily

overnight. And we’re going plastic bag sledging.

Waking up to a world covered in snow still has that

effect on me, more than 30 years later. The unexpected

white blanket has an extraordinary power – the quality

of light, the peaceful muff ling, the way snow can cloak

familiar objects into new shapes. No other weather can

transform a grubby office building or a shabby street

into a pristine wonderland.

Snow might mean broken routines and traffic delays

but it’s also the weather of pure, unadulterated

fun. Snow means speed, exhilaration and toppling

laughter. Snow gives us the freedom to play fight, slide,

crash and make a mess. It doesn’t care if you’ve got an

expensive wooden sledge or a black bin liner; snow is

democratic – everyone is entitled to its pleasures.

Snow is the weather of play – it brings out the

mischievous child in us all, the wet-nosed kid that

lurks just underneath the surface, who is itching to

THE Weather of play

SNOW CAN BE TRANSFORMATIVE – TO LANDSCAPES, OUR

MOOD, OUR PLANS FOR THE DAY. SALLY COULTHARD, AUTHOR

OF THE LITTLE BOOK OF SNOW, CELEBRATES ITS STRENGTHS

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