When the first snow arrived there was great excitement.
Children rushed to the windows to watch in silence as the white flakes fluttered to the ground.
Being from the northern climes my family saw the snow as a novelty. We witnessed great frosts in the weeks before; whole trees silver each morning, the river frozen over and spectacular icicles hanging from the fences.
By the time the snow came it was the beginning of spring. The peach and apple trees had begun to bud and the wonder of the snow settling upon the blossoms was one I shall always remember.
The southern winter was new to us. That it lasted nine months of the year was a challenge. The babies’ nappies hung out over night would often be frozen solid and there were a few days when I would come home during the day to flush the toilet because the water pipes had been frozen.
On only a few days in the years we lived there was there a snowfall to talk about. One time people built snowmen, a mate and his kids built an igloo, and the kids at the school rolled a snowball a metre plus in diameter.
For me snow is a distant thing, it happens in other places, I see it on the TV, I read bloggers complaining about shovelling it.
I’ll settle back in my shorts and singlet and appreciate the world I live in, hot, muggy with occasional rain.