We are living in Narnia. Narnia before Aslan came and spoilt it all by melting the snow. That’s what I always secretly thought as a child, but knew I shouldn’t, because Aslan was Jesus.
I went out for a walk round The Close and then Stowe Pool this morning. All the photographers in Lichfield were out. None of the runners were. I was out for a run yesterday morning, and it was slippy in places. Today it’s worse. I’d be mortified as a judo player to fall on the ice and injure myself. Should know how to land properly by now! The difference is that on the judo mat you are expecting it. Of course, you should be alert when walking on icy pavements, but vigilance is tricky to maintain when everything is so heart-breakingly beautiful. Plus there are mats in a dojo.
Frost was falling like powdered snow from the trees, and landing in a hiss on the holly bushes beneath. I watched a crow pecking at a chunk of frozen bread (or maybe frozen rodent? I didn’t look too closely) and it sounded as though it was eating crisps. The pool is now almost entirely frozen. Bad news for the ducks and coots, good news for Brer Fox. All the cobwebs and leaf edges and twigs were furred and feathered and fanged with frost. Each detail on the Narnian lampposts of The Close was picked out in white.
I may have to apologise to CS Lewis before I’m allowed into heaven, but I still prefer Narnia with the snow.
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