A Handful of Snow

The whole of London is covered in mist and fog. This morning it felt as if the train was floating on some ghostly sea, I could hardly see more than half a metre from the carriage window and surfaces seemed to be steaming in the frosty air. I watched a friend's breath creating small, white zephyrs that seemed to melt on the air. Walking to work, the scenery seemed to emerge from the mist itself, giving one the strangest sensation that the world was unfolding as if in a dream.

I took some of my writing students for a walk through the winter trees and it began to snow for a few minutes. Frozen red-yellow leaves crunched under our wellies - a very satisfying sound ^^ One of the girls found a spider frozen beneath a layer of ice, in a birdbath, which was quite eerie. It reminded my of those elaborate paper weights made from glass; where a smudge of colour seems immortalised. The snow was a little disappointing, but still beautiful. It was only enough to scatter a few flakes on our hair and turn the girl's cheeks pink, but we enjoyed it all the same and the girls (although seventeen) squealed with delight, like children.