On the 8th of March, we wake to a different type of morning light and discover a heavy quilt of snow draped over the garden and rooftops. I gasp, in delight, and help you pull on waterproof trousers, hats and gloves so that you can go out and play, while I watch from the window, warmed by the radiator. As the morning passes, I notice that I am your grandmother, worried about wet socks in wellies and lips turning blue from the cold. But also your fun auntie who sees bright pink cheeks and glee as you make angels in the snow and find untrodden paths to mark with your footprints. I am your sibling, desperately excited for a ‘school is cancelled’ Snow Day. And I am your mother, seeing the beauty of the snow through your eyes and then taking a walk, alone, to see it through my own.
