The texture of her world is suddenly different. Remembering that the weather hasn’t been this much fun in years, she walks through the snow-strewn lanes as if she’s discovered motion for the very first time, taking tentative steps. Then suddenly she lets go fully, and takes a proper stride. Pulling at the edges of her scarf, there’s now a look in her eye that’s nearly hopeful, as if this snow has made her rediscover something important about herself. Past the dirtied-limestone buildings, along a ground brighter than the sky. Under the naked trees, past the afternoon families and those wondering what all the fuss is about, past the snowballs that seem to occupy some unlikely physics, and heading towards somewhere that she isn’t sure about, just somewhere else.
About Mark Newton
It’s like waking up in a completely different world isn’t it, after the snow. Unrecognizable. I think that goes a long way toward explaining the excitement, especially when you’re young.
I feel sort of the same way when I go to the Notting Hill Carnival: these are streets that I walk all the time, yet they’re completely transformed once a year to become a separate, entirely different place that only exists once a year. You could almost get lost in your own neighbourhood.
A very nice piece of writing by the way.
I know what you mean. Familiarity can make us blind – even with other people.
Thanks!