Soft floury flakes drown the land for as far as eyes can see. It was night, hours after the brightness of day had already packed up into the soft bosom of the sky. Flakes, snow flakes like the luminous slivers from heaven’s dinner table, fill the land with a breath of steam. One year ago as I walked out into the night under a snowing sky, I had wondered at how nice it all looked falling down with deliberate steadiness. It was the beginning of a new season and I remembered Jim Reeves. It was also the beginning of a new experience that brought with it the pleasure of seeing the world wearing a different look. I would get bored from it after a while, but the novelty was always quite unquantifiable. I would whip my camera out and start shooting.
It snowed all through the night, and I woke up with the whole ground covered in fluffs of white and muck. White when the snow resisted all attempts to put its glory under the rubber of the car tyres, and mucky when technology succeeded and trampled it under dark and merciless feet. It is not yet Christmas, but the face of the season is now irredeemably changed. I remember another memory from movies of youth and the overwhelming thought of how nice it must be to live where it snows all year around. If only one could live in such a place, how nice would it be – with lights, snowmen, Christmas trees, and long open land of white.
I may tire of seeing white in a few weeks, but I won’t lose the pleasant feeling that comes with the season of fluorescence.