Sometimes, you don’t have to travel any further than outside your own front door to have a wonderful experience. This morning in Sheffield, I woke to snow falling and settling on the ground, pure, white, and just waiting for footprints to be crunched through it. So armed with my camera, I pulled on my boots and headed out into a winter wonderland.
What is it about snow that is so magical? I think it’s the quiet. Snow falls silently, muffles the noises of city life, and keeps cars from roaring down the roads. The pedestrians out and about were concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other without skidding down the hill. The only sound was the creaking and crunching of the snow beneath my boots.
By the time I reached Weston Park, the snow was increasingly blizzard-like, whipped about by the wind, and covering me head to toe. It was a whiteout, the snow carpeting the landscape. Taking photos was near-impossible; the lens was covered in fat flakes the moment it was exposed to the elements. But it created a lot of fun effects, leading to some abstract, ethereal pictures.
I made my way towards the university, treading carefully until I reached the shelter of the concourse, and yet another moment of snow magic was revealed. From beneath the heavy, concrete bridge, the blizzard was kept at a safe distance, appearing like a snow globe all around me. The Student Union building, with its colour-changing lights and sharp, angular architecture, appeared like a mirage beyond the veil of white.
Down in the centre of Sheffield, the gritters had been out in force, and much of the snow cleared, but the blizzard didn’t stop all day, so when I got back home, winding up the hills to Walkley, the snow was as pure and virgin white as it had been that morning, and thicker than ever, piled in high drifts against every post and pillar, engulfing cars and covering footprints as quickly as they had been made.
We Brits are terrible for complaining about the inconvenience of snow and decrying the fact that the country grinds to a halt, clamouring for the gritters to come out. But what’s wrong with things slowing down for a day? For not fighting nature, but just enjoying it? Snow in this country is a fleeting thing, and it makes the world a beautiful, magical place while it’s here.
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