The Morning after my brother’s wedding I awoke to a picturesque snowy morning. Here’s a short piece of observational writing I jotted down.

Through a misted window I watch two greyhounds lollop about. One rolls on his back, biting at great chunks of disturbed snow. A boy, wrapped in a blue snowsuit, watches his dad roll a boulder of white. Mittened hands lift high to pat the snowman’s body. A blast of snow obscures the scene and I return to packing my bags. There’s been much furore about getting home. My sister left early in the morning but the snow had already made its claim on the roads. Two hours later she’s stuck less than fifteen miles from us. I’ve kept my exhilaration secret, solemn-faced and serious words. Soon, when the opportunity strikes I will lollop alongside the dogs.

A phone call brings me downstairs to the main cottage. I pass an ancient walnut tree, last night it was alight, soft glowing bulbs spread across its empty branches. white laid thick on its roots. Benches scattered about, snow cushions a hands width thick. Earmuffs dull all sound and a wide hood restricts my view. I step in old footprints, being filled with new flurries. The snowman is almost built, the boy held in his dad’s arms. Sitting outside the main cottage, drenched and snow melting on his noes a chocolate lab stares out at the scene. I pat him on the head with gloved hands, the smell of wet dog ripe.

The cottage kitchen is perfection, with fresh tea and chocolate brownies. Mum joins me, then my stepdad, a promise of playing in the snow tempts my little sister downstairs. As I sip on tea a fellow wedding guest runs through the kitchen and arms spread wide spins in the swirling snow. Her husband follows scooping up a snowball. My feet itch. The dogs circle the two, catching snowballs midair and half knocking down the two with excitement. When they return, it’s with rose-red cheeks and impish grins.

After several trips to different rooms and the conclusion our ancient Toyota Yaris was not fit to traverse the snow it was decided tom and I would travel home with my parents. Car packed and the room emptied at long last Emily descended from her room and we ventured into the snow. Leaving the trodden path I jumped into the fresh snow with both feet. The crunch blissful. Mum was the first to throw a snowball, right at my back. I aimed one back as she hid beneath a fur-lined hood. The snow continued to fall as if it always would. We played for as long as the cold would allow.

Breakfast was called and we ate full English breakfasts listening to the scrape of spades on stone. Paths and plans were formed. Blankets handed out alongside wedding centrepieces. Cars were pushed and then towed by the farmer’s range rover. We waved goodbye to our snow-laden car, Tom and I warm and safe in my parents X-Trail.

Thanks for reading, I’ve been busy writing my novel recently. My aim is to get to get the first 10,000 words revised by the end of March. I’m currently at 5,300. I will hopefully be updating my word count more regularly now the chaos of Christmas and various health scares are out of the way.