Snow has again covered the Brindabellas. Overnight, a white
blanket had fallen on the hills and created a marvellous sight for Sunday
morning. It will not stay there long. When snow makes its rare appearance on the
smallish hills that surround Canberra, it is never a lengthy stay. It hasn't
been a cold winter at all, and before we know it, it will be over. The chill in
the wind will soon be the only reminder of the presence of the snow to the
south-west.
I vividly remember the few times my parents would drive us
outside the city of Valencia to see the snow. It was a rare phenomenon, too. But
as a child I was mesmerised by it: there was something magical about so much
whiteness. By the road, however, snow would become slushy and dirty; you had to
walk away from the car park to see big stretches of the cleanest white stuff.
We never had proper snow gear, and invariably would get cold and feel miserable.
These days I think I actually dislike the snow: I can’t ski, I don’t see myself
trying to learn now, and I much prefer the company of a book by a warm
radiator, with a hot cuppa nearby.
This photo is the first time Clea saw the snow. It was
September 2008. After the solitary wintry blast of the year – for that’s what
it has become, winter: one very cold weekend per year! – we drove to the
Brindabellas and parked the car near the Corin Forest Mountain Retreat. There
would be another trip to the Selwyn Snowfields for a one-day snow ‘treat’.
Quite uneventful, really.
There wasn't much snow on the ground, but it was enough
to make a few snowballs and throw them at each other. Clea enjoyed the battles
with her brothers and took aim at her parents. Laughing. Giggling. Shrieking
with joy. Shocked when a snowball hit her near too close to her face. Feeling
the cold in her hands. She looked beautiful, pure, as beautiful and pure as snow. My beautiful babita.
I miss you, mi amor.
