Ana likes to sing 'Frosty the snowman was a jolly holiday'. In her mind Frosty and Mary Poppins, both heroes around these parts, are fused. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's the hat.
Every morning for weeks now Ana has gone running to the window to watch expectantly and whisper 'it's snowiiiiiiiiing!' But it hasn't been. Until now.
|When frosty holds your hand, you feel so grand.|
Ana is in heaven. On our pre-school walks she takes huge bites from snowy hedges, shrieking 'just like chickeeeeen!' and 'tastes like puuuuuding!' Which makes me wonder if my cooking is really that gobsmackingly bland. But it also makes me warmly remember the spine-shiveringly delicious snow ice cream of my girlhood winters gone. Just a simple bowl of snow, splash of whole or condensed milk, dash of powdered sugar, cap of vanilla or sprinkle of nutmeg and voila: frosty magic.
I admit that when nobody's looking, I'm out there eating snow off the hedges too. Foolishly, both Ana and her childish mama are desperately hoping for a desperately snowy winter, just like the last one.
|Photographing snow: a fool's wonderland.|