The icy breath froze as it entered my lungs. Exhaling was difficult, the temperature somewhere between -6 and -9. The newly fallen snow clung to the pavement, willing itself to shield pedestrians from the sheet of ice beneath it. Armoured with two pairs of gloves, three jumpers, a coat and a hat, my top half still shivered. My toes and legs, covered in jeans, one pair of socks and barely snow-proof trainers, slowly got used to the numbness that had begun creeping its way upwards. My 10 minute walk to the car (God bless Ford and all other car makers!) felt like an arctic tunnel, getting ever further away from warmth and light. What breath I could muster rose in front of me and danced to Jack Frost's music: a cold hard melody. I hurried my pace: thoughts of turning on the heating (that would begin as icy blasts but eventually carry some warmth) beckoned me on. But as I turned into the park something changed; the hum of traffic faded, the week-old snow crunched as it became easier to walk on, and something sparkled as the Winter sun hung in the air, laughing at people complaining of the cold, and smiling at those who recognised her gift to turn even the frostiest of afternoons into gorgeous glittering dance floors. Two girls attempting to walk on the frozen lake. A dormant river hibernating from the bitter cold. Snow flakes floating lazily before my very eyes. Yes, the snow is inexpressibly cold. But how indescribably beautiful it is! I wonder how God thought of it?
