The Snowy Day

My son got from my partner a famous children's book called The Snowy Day as a gift while ago. It's a delicate and pure story about a boy named Peter, that has a fun snowy day adventure.

As a Brazilian, I didn't have a childhood full of memories of hot chocolate, gloves and making angels in the snow. Actually I got to see the first "frost" with 26, a few weeks ago, in England.

Since I saw the very first snowflakes falling I got deeply in love with the white winter.

I dreamed about it as a teenager, with the white trees and houses looking like they have sugar on top. Winter outfits, cozy moments around the fire... I wondered myself how the feeling would be, many times, while outside the temperature was 35ºC.

Walking through the streets and talking to old English ladies, they were all surprised with why a person would come to the city during the worst days of winter. I couldn't blame them on asking me this, I could ask them the same questions if I were a 80y lady full of tweed coats having to buy groceries at -9 celsius.

There's something very magic about seeing the snow falling, for a person that had never experienced that before.

I cracked the ice with my boots, got amazed by the frozen leafs, and how cloudy it is the air that comes out of my mouth when its cold. Felt how hard it is the ground when I fell in my back after sliding. Had to use cozy knitted sweaters, enjoy hot chocolate while walking with several layers of clothes. Made draws in all the covered surfaces full of the most white and thin layer of snow I could dream about.

Today, walking through the streets of Edinburgh, I felt the exact feeling that Peter felt in the book. I caught myself wishing I could save a small ball of snow in my pockets forever.

To always carry a little part of this remarkable place with me, to always keep the amazing feeling of plenitude I have here.

Snow made me feel like a child again. Genuinely happy. And it was very good.