It so happens that there are times when the weather perfectly reflects your mood, and when this happens, to me at least, it puts me at a strange kind of ease with the world, and makes me understand how people could come to believe that the world was created with humans in mind, and is designed to make us feel content within it. However, a quick glance at nature in general reveals the opposite; we grew into the world, not the other way around. And therefore, for me, these rare moments are more a time for a kind of careless emotionalism, a kind of cathartic self-indulgence which is nonetheless necessary.
The emotions themselves can of course vary, and do, depending on the type of weather involved. Invariably the happiest is a blazing summer day, the most miserable a bitchy spring rain determined to get into your socks. But with snow, well, with snow, it's another kind of feeling altogether.
I was at work on Friday, and it snowed from ten until about three. I emerged from the office as the sun was brushing its teeth and preparing its hot water bottle, ready to slide of the edge of the earth and into bed; I walked through a landscape which, had it been a scene in a movie, the director would not have dared to spoil with music. Silence was the key. The hush, and stillness, which descends after a snowfall... well, in this instance it mirrored my mood, chilled and contemplative as it was.
Now, in general it is safe to say I am over snow. It's a pain in the ass, it gets in your face, and it puts the trains to sleep. And it causes (some) girls to screech irritably and run around like maniacs. I doubt this ill will will dissipate any time soon. But, there are times when snow and I get along. This moment was one. It allowed me a moment of serenity and soft introspection of a kind rarely found these days. I wandered through it, enjoying the squeak of my shoes, enjoying the spoiled trail my footprints left across the otherwise unbroken field behind me, enjoying pushing handfuls of the stuff from brick walls and tree branches.
I don't know why it should be so, but as I walked, I felt that there was a chance that I'd be okay. Perhaps it was the growing confidence with my work, or myself, perhaps it was the story ideas running around my head like noisy streams, perhaps it was simply the fact that it was Friday and I had left the workaday shit behind me for a few days. I was unable to find the reason, and I was uninclined to chase it around a snowy field. Instead, I drew a deep breath, took a picture of the scene in my mind, and allowed it to sit there, clean and unspoiled, as I walked away towards the city and my regular life.