There is nothing like a fresh fall of snow to reset a busy brain

There is a lot to be gloomy about at the moment, which makes it more important than ever to appreciate the small things. And what could be more uplifting than opening the curtains and seeing, as much of the UK did over the weekend, a fresh carpet of snow, twinkling defiantly and softening the hard edges of the outside world?

Coated in snow, even the most mundane objects – a bus shelter, a park bench – acquire a prettiness so delicate you hardly dare intrude. Discovering the world transformed like this, however briefly, feels particularly poignant when our lives have been reduced to monotony and routine by lockdown. It is immensely invigorating to see and feel something different. The next few months are likely to be the toughest yet but this fall of snow might just be the tonic we needed – a moment of joy to see us through.  

It certainly seems to have brought the best out of nation, otherwise fed up and uncertain about the future. The hashtag “Narnia” was trending on Twitter on Sunday morning, as people posted photographs of wintry parks and lopsided snowmen, which makes a change from the fractious discourse we have become accustomed to. Everything really did feel just that bit better.  

Why is that? Of course, snow reminds us of the excitement we felt as children, galloping out to throw the first snowball of the day. It is irresistibly nostalgic. But, as adults, the altered landscape and muffled sounds persuade us to look and listen more closely – to wonder at the magic of it all. It seems to reset a busy brain, allowing us to breathe, smile and start again. A lick of paint for a tired mind.

On Sunday, the novelist Max Porter tweeted an image of a “snow duck” on top of a bin, accompanied by the caption: “Saw a bloke walking along on his own with a mould, popping these snow ducks out and leaving them. What with everything being such a f**king heartbreaking mess in every direction, I found it quite touching. Little gestures and all that.”

He’s right and, as the snow begins to thaw, we’d do well not to let those “little gestures” melt away with it.

Yours,

Rupert Hawksley

Voices senior commissioning editor