I love it when it snows. I sat up late reading last night – just to watch the snow. I love its quality. Oh and how I wished it would stay and settle when I awoke in the morning. Snow in Sheffield is beautiful!
But I don’t wake up in the morning. I wake up in the early hours of a misty bitterly cold afternoon, where the soon is low in the snow clouds and people walking outside are walking in big puddles of where the snow used to be.
The snow reminded me of one of my most treasured memories which is also one of my worst childhood memory to!
This blog is going to be abit like a Seamus Heany poem.
when i was younger i went to a church of england school, Brodsworth. that is were i met my friend georgia.
this school was awesome, especially for year 1. tinking about it they didnt cover the syallabus’s very well. but hey what are you supposed to do in year 1? my mom decided to take me to that school because the skellow infant school told my mom that i was retarded- mainly because i drew round houses. that explains alot?!
anyways. i’ve always been an angry sort of child and really imagintive. as imaginative as they get. angry yet positive. i mean angry in the sense that i’ve always wanted to rebel the norms of society and any authorative figure.
one winter, before global warming, i dunno whether its just because i was smaller or it really did snow a good 6 inches but the one so gloomy evening turned into a sparkly ice wonderland over night. it was the year i got phenumonia, the year i had to let go of my friends in order to make new ones and the year i met my bestest friend claire.
my mom dropped me off at school that snowy morning, like she normally did. brodsworth school wasnt in a residentail place, so all the roads were fairly untouched. most certainly the paths hadnt been trodden on. when i stepped out of the car i still remember the crack of fresh hard yet soft snow under my – what i call now – prostitue coloured bright red welly’s.
i waved bye to my mom through frosted symetterical flakes and ran off to the outside classroom – which was pretty cold – to meet up with my friends. That morning we discussed what we were going to do in the snow at break and how beautiful it looked. we drew snowmen and robins to celebrate and seize the day! we compared how the snow was whiter than our milk and pretended to read through sneaking eyes that watched the snow fall from the heavens. Georgina told me that we might get snowed in and have to stay at school over night. it happened before and all the villages had to shovel the children out. this thought excited me, whether i believed it or not i dunno.
break came and the teacher said that we couldn’t go out because it was too cold. some of my friend cried but we protested. after grabbing her coat and several attempts to go out unsupervised Mrs Smith (yup her real name and no, no relation) allowed us on ONE condition: that we stayed ONLY on the front field.
We played on the front field for a while, but i wanted to go 2 the forbidden field. i wanted to feel untrodden snow like i did when i stepped out of the car.
There was what we called “the wild garden” at the end of the forbidden field. in the end of summer months we build a den that looked upon the carpark. with a hole in the fence so we could go out of school without the teachers knwoing. we spent most dinnertimes in the den watching something that looked like misltoe, but bigger grow and blossom fall and tree’s breathe new life. The older kids didnt know about our den, and if they did they weren’t bothered by it. they knew it was smizz’s turf!
always one to feed my curiosity, i wanted to go 2 my den. i looked around and sneaked off leaving a trail of footprints behind me. i ran as fast as my small legs would take me in wellingtons and deep snow. I got to the end of the wild garden and my eyes have never seen such beauty. the words fail to come to me to describe it. I went further into the garden and straight to the den. It was amazing.
like something you only see on movies. i can still see it crystal clear in my mind. i lost my breath momentarily.
I heard the school bell in the distances and i ran off.
when i got back in Georgina asked where i had been. I told her what i had seen and bummed on about it till dinnertime. we ate our peanut butter sandwiches and apples and i headed off to show her.
there were more footprints than i remembered but that didnt faze me, it didnt strike me at all.
when we got there georgina just stood there. there was nothing special about it at all.
someone had followed my footprints up to the wild garden and trodden all over the snow.
The grass were limp and the melting snow was like an erosion of my niaviety.
I felt sad that Georgina didn’t see what I had seen. she couldnt understand what was so beautiful about it. if anything it looked uglier than ever.
she went off 2 play with our other friends and i was left watching snows melt and the snowdrops fight for life as they lie lifeless, crumpled, confused and crushed by footprints. like my childhood heart.
I still remember that now. if i was mr heany that would make an awesome poem. 3-4 weeks laters i got phenomonia, from searching in the rain, snow, frost for something as beautiful. I had asthma and got the flu which turned into it. how crap is that?! (i obviously survived and i don’t have ashama anymore so a silver lining? ) I still havent found anything quite as beautiful. my search for that beauty has shifted, i no longer seem to appericate the countryside anymore. maybe its the experience of disappointment … maybe its just my subculture? lol