Of Snow and Snowmen

Last night the sky was swirling with snow thick and furiously, so that when Sir S and I awoke this frosty morn, the riverbank and trees in the park were blanketed in snow. I was swept with nostalgia for my childhood in England, where it snowed most Christmases and my father and I would go sledging and snowballing in Dame Margaret`s Park, and transport a fir tree home on our trusty wooden sledge. To see the tree-trunks cloaked in white also brought to mind the illustrations of Jill Barklem`s Brambly Hedge: Winter Story - one of my fave books when I was a tot!

The park was busy with shrilly children and rosy-cheeked parents rolling up the torsos, heads and various body parts of snowmen - some gritty with gravel, others bushy with maple leaves. Sir S and I created Mr Ponce, a rather genteel snowman who donned a black beret and scarf, a maple moustache and a twig cigar, with 10-yen coins for eyes and shiny silver 1-yen buttons. Marvellous! Many a snowball was tossed and I quickly remembered, upon hitting Sir S on the nose and myself being hit on the chin, that small, tennis ball-sized snowballs are much more painful than massive, watermelon-sized ones (which tend to explode softly on impact). I also was seized by nasty memories of those mean kids who used to pack snowballs with pebbles and sharp stones. Hairy blighters!

Inspired by Miss A, who two weeks ago made a snow-rabbit then stuck it in the freezer at home, Sir S and I set about making a snow-fox. With a bronze-coin eye, twiggy whiskers and a leafy brush, it was quite a charming picture until a charge of children on a snowball rampage ceremoniously squished it to slush.

Bravo for winter!