Snow is something of a miracle, when you think about it. To happen, it requires precise conditions. And then it needs to be the right sort of snow for it to stick, and build in deep, soft folds, covering entire landscapes in tiny, delicate, individual flakes.
And then there’s the timing. Some residents of Sheffield will have cursed its arriving on Boxing Day night, preventing safe journeys home from family visits and into work the next day. Others, like me, had hands pressed up against the window, dancing in delight that snow should arrive so close to Christmas Day, and when worries about moving the car and going to work were still blissfully far in the future.
Snow can be troublesome and disruptive. But it can also stop time, transform pictures, makes fabulous modelling material and turn fields into wondrous playgrounds for dogs.
Snow can be proof that every now and again, miraculous things do happen.