There has been magic in the past few days. It came from the sky, through the cold and the clouds. It came on the breeze, in the drifts and the ice.
There are many places in the world where this weather is unexceptional – but not here. Here the weather is often cold and damp, sometimes sunny. Snow though? That’s unusual.
And snow days? These are the first we’ve had in our seven years of being in Devon.
There is so much about them that has been magical:
The way the snow muffled the sounds of the world as it fell in feather-like flakes.
The way the roads became impassable, keeping us here, at home.
The way the views we have quickly come to take for granted were transformed, sprinkled with a sugar sweet coating that sparkled in the evening light.
The way the banal became beautiful – moss, leaves, buds, even simple sticks encased in ice, reflecting these strange days in their new skin.
The way the ground became a gallery, calling to the wrapped up bodies that trudged through the snow to stretch out and paint figures on it or draw up sculptures from within the cold.
We flitted in and out, from fireside to flurries. Each moment was echoed in the experience of others across the county, and yet each was as unique to us as theirs was too.
Snow in Devon does not settle often.
But this week it did, and we absorbed the magic it brought with wide eyes and frozen toes. Now that it has begun to melt, I hope that it will leave something of its sense of wonder behind.