White

I think I have had what some people would describe as a wonderful experience.
I just looked out the window, and noticed that along the edges of the glass panes, there is a fresh, crisp lining... of snowflakes.
I opened my window, and immersed my hand in the outside air. When you have been inside, technically since 6:30, and for the majority of that time absorbed in a book, swathed in a multitude of different blankets, and with a fat tortoiseshell cat at your feet, deciding to bring any part of your anatomy outside the shelter of your bedroom, through a window, is like stepping into ice cold water. You feel the goosebumps creeping up your spine, down your neck, you shiver and wonder why you are actually doing this....

.... and then you see the infinite expanse of white before you, spread open like a blank canvas, save for the silhouetted trees lined across the edges like dribbled ink.

After what felt like years of standing, staring, emmersed in my own white world, I suddenly felt little shivery brushes against my arm, which then settled on my cold skin.

I bought my extended arm back into the comforting land of tortoiseshell cats and good books, and saw the brushes were tiny, baby pieces of white themselves, little shreds of lace which had been scattered up my arm.

I then turned off my light, and peered outside, properly.

And I saw that there were feathers of white falling from the sky.

And if you lean out of the window at a slightly dangerous angle, and look up, you can see the feathers getting larger and larger as they get closer and closer to you, like someone has been hoovering the sky, and is now standing on a cloud, emptying their hoover on the world, emptying frozen dew beads and white feathers onto every surface, covering gardens, tickling noses, and and glittering on window panes.

And I felt like crying with happiness. But instead I laughed, amd saw my laughter dancing out in front of my lips in dragon smoke tendrils.

So yes.

It is snowing.