We were not forecast snow on this day, it was meant to be raining, but it was colder than expected, colder than hoped:
"Poor Tom's a cold"*.
When I opened the curtains the sight that greeted me was of a fluttery fine veil of snow.



"The tyranny of the open night's too rough
For nature to endure."*





"Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
Invades us to the skin"*
As I watched the day unfold I could only muse on how many words for snow we fail to have.


It was beautiful whilst it lasted.
"Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.
Hum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee."*
(*King Lear, Scene IV William Shakespeare)