Snow.

 

Snow, it seemed to me, had the power to take away the sins of the world.

With that dazzling perfection, men’s minds could only be turned to the glorious

and beautiful; their hearts becoming salmon, medallions reflecting magnificent

light, must surely leap from the curve of their every-day lives.

Snow made the world pristine as Heaven is. Shining, peaceful, flawless;

to walk on fresh fallen snow was to walk an unsullied landscape; to walk in its

unearthly glow, which had the power to make even winter’s pitch black nights bright,

was, to me, a miraculous restoration of sight.

When the snow started to fleck the air outside our classroom, we all ran to the windows;

it was to be expected, even the teacher stepped towards it, allowing himself to be

mesmerised by the slow climbing down of billions of spiders; nature’s most astounding

coup, as the earth was prised from the doings of man, wonder restored, the opportunity

to write ourselves afresh on the empty canvas of the world.