I am ruled by the whims of the weather gods. It starts to rain, and I burrow under the blanket, cancel all plans till it stops. In India, that can mean hibernation from June to October, which my parents don’t quite agree with. Sunshine, and my room is a mess of my creation, a result of my attempts to climb over all obstacles to get out to the gloriousness that is the world.
First snow of the season today. My room is clean, with a clear route to the window/balcony, which was blocked by several successive layers of junk. I can finally see my floor! It starts to snow and I run out on to the street, and stretch out my hands to catch snowflakes, raise my face to the sky and talk to complete strangers. I get offended that Travel For London does not consider announcing “Ladies and gentlemen, the first snow of the season is here!” instead of a pointless “good service on all London underground lines” – though I do see their need to brag, it does happen so far and few in between. But so does snow! And my need to blog, apparently. Hello, I am back. With more wishes, of course.
I wish could share this moment with you. I wish I could sit with you by a window, sharing ginger tea and silence. I wish you could hear the absolute silence that descends on the world along with snow. I wish you could see the smiles that strangers on the street exchange, the smiles of those who know that this is a moment to be shared, smiles that really cannot be contained. I wish you could hear the distant laughter of children scrambling about in their long awaited prize, that overdue Christmas present from nature. And see the magical shapes that frost can create on car windows; watch dogs get very confused by the white stuff from the sky. Watch trees and shrubs laden with snow, to the point that their branches finally creak with their heavy burden, and then bend to create a tiny avalanche, much to their relief. I wish you could see snow swirling under the street light, that moment when they twirl about in the air, debating whether or not to hurl themselves down to the thickening carpet on the ground.
But then again, there is beauty in having this moment to myself. Because, knowing you lot, you’ll probably start a snow fight and the poor hopeless romantic would be pelted with snowballs while trying to make a snow angel (which is what hopeless romantics deserve, really).
The sky is orange. Everything is still. All’s right in my world.
First snow of the season today. My room is clean, with a clear route to the window/balcony, which was blocked by several successive layers of junk. I can finally see my floor! It starts to snow and I run out on to the street, and stretch out my hands to catch snowflakes, raise my face to the sky and talk to complete strangers. I get offended that Travel For London does not consider announcing “Ladies and gentlemen, the first snow of the season is here!” instead of a pointless “good service on all London underground lines” – though I do see their need to brag, it does happen so far and few in between. But so does snow! And my need to blog, apparently. Hello, I am back. With more wishes, of course.
I wish could share this moment with you. I wish I could sit with you by a window, sharing ginger tea and silence. I wish you could hear the absolute silence that descends on the world along with snow. I wish you could see the smiles that strangers on the street exchange, the smiles of those who know that this is a moment to be shared, smiles that really cannot be contained. I wish you could hear the distant laughter of children scrambling about in their long awaited prize, that overdue Christmas present from nature. And see the magical shapes that frost can create on car windows; watch dogs get very confused by the white stuff from the sky. Watch trees and shrubs laden with snow, to the point that their branches finally creak with their heavy burden, and then bend to create a tiny avalanche, much to their relief. I wish you could see snow swirling under the street light, that moment when they twirl about in the air, debating whether or not to hurl themselves down to the thickening carpet on the ground.
But then again, there is beauty in having this moment to myself. Because, knowing you lot, you’ll probably start a snow fight and the poor hopeless romantic would be pelted with snowballs while trying to make a snow angel (which is what hopeless romantics deserve, really).
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