A page of snow

Overnight, the snow fell thick and silent. We were woken early by a cat miaowing at her familiar world transformed by a strange white blanket. 

I sat in the dark kitchen, sipping tea and listening to tales of closed roads and four hour journeys to work on the radio. All the trains and buses cancelled. The only taxi driver to be found was from Afghanistan, used to driving in snow drifts.

Realising I wouldn't be able to get into work I sat down at my computer to check my emails. But I was too tempted - I had to get out before the world woke up. I crept out just after 7 into a muffled white world. It was so quiet you could hear the beat of the starlings' wings as they flocked overhead. A couple of determined people waited at the bus stop for a bus that would surely never come. I tramped slowly down to the seafront, crunching virgin snow underfoot. A man was building an igloo with an ice cream carton and further down the beach, someone was skiing. A few people wandered around with dazed smiles on their faces, some taking pictures. I followed a man filming silently on his video camera.

The snow on the beach was untouched. It started to get lighter. On the way home, a girl danced in the street singing 'I don't have to go to scho-ol, I don't have to go to scho-ol.' A woman glared as she scraped snow off her car. The snow began to fall again.

I sit at my desk, watching a cat watching the whirling snowflakes.