Victorian ice and Edwardian snow, You'll find yourself asking is there something below?

I spent some time in the snow, when it snowed all those days ago. On this very hill, in this very field.

Now, it's a green field that I hardly recognise.

Is it strange that it's so mundane now, so banal and useless to me, when it was such a fairground before?

I was riding a bicycle through the lanes which meander through these fields and thought of the whiter times.

If anything I just felt warmer than the last time I'd visited these fields.

Snow melts. It's an ever useful metaphor for everything, isn't it. An over applied cliche which I have pandered to yet again. It really happened though - ay, there's the rub.

To sleep, perchance to dream. Under the snow and ice, a brush of normality stays hidden.

Sq.