Snow is a rare occurrence in the low country and when it happens it is most likely a one-day wonder. All the more reason for heading out and enjoying it wherever you are! It is on such a day that we head out into the white landscape. The city is being covered by a thick layer of snow, like a sweet creamy cake with frosting on top. As the snow keeps falling the city slowly comes to a standstill. At first, bicycles can’t cope with the slippery paths anymore; then cars disappear gradually but steadily off the roads. The snow keeps falling and soon buses stop riding and so do trains. Time to head outside. Good footwear and caution can take us places especially with ice grips under the soles. If you don’t already have them, Clas Ohlson, the Scandinavian retailer for all things useful, has opened shop in the UK and so it seems good quality ice grips have come closer to these parts of the world. 

Westerpark is  our destination. On the way, we pass youth squealing in delight, some of who will only have seen snow this thick for the first time in their lives. And tomorrow it will all be gone, having changed into slush, mixed with the dirt of the streets. I can imagine city folk stating that snow is not their thing. Living just through the ugly stages of icy roads and melting slush seems not worth the effort.  Unless you have had the pleasure of living with snow throughout a winter, when it reflects any light on all surfaces day and night, turning virtually every place into a magic wonderland. 

As we move away off the streets and into the park, silence and solitude increasingly envelop us like the blanket of snow. Usually the park is busy in the evenings with a multitude of dog walkers, sportspeople of all kinds and shapes, commuters on their bikes and all the others joining in for an evening stroll. Today though, we hardly see a soul. Every once in a while an intrepid runner braves the slippery ground. The train tracks to the back of the park lie still and so the magic of the evening unfolds and envelops undisturbed. Our own steps crunching in the snow are the loudest sounds we hear. Alongside the creek we let ourselves slide into the fluffy powder and look up into the sky above. The reflections of thousands of city lights on the snow gives the grey sky a tint of orange. We try to hold out as long as possible, feeling the cold underneath creep slowly into our bodies. It won’t be long before we will have to get up and continue walking, rubbing the numbness of our cold hands as we stand up. For now the night is white, pristine and bright and beautifully quiet. I can smell the snow. Such joy.

Photo credit: I took this photo on one of those rare days when a blanket of snow appeared in Amsterdam recently