snow

I was at the home my family built when I was a child. My parents were also there along with various other people, all the age we are now. Although I knew it was summer (according to the calendar) the weather was indicating winter. It was icy cold and we were all doing what we could to stay warm. I went upstairs to my bedroom to change my clothes; I needed to find something suitable for the outdoors, particularly for walking through a field where I was to dig something up. I put on a thick, cream woolly jumper over several layers, my jeans, and a pair of long camel-coloured boots with a sturdy heel. I held other boots in my hands, weighing up their appropriateness for the task ahead of me, but decided that their heels were too thin or high. Once dressed, I ventured back downstairs and went to the window to look out. I wondered if I had dressed too warmly seeing as this was summer, but I could see people walking up and down the street outside wearing even more layers: parkers, coats with hoods and fur trims, scarves, gloves and beanies. Suddenly snow began to fall from the sky. I called out to my parents and ran outside. It was the first time I had seen snow and I wasn't entirely convinced that this could really be snow - in Newcastle, in summer. I caught a snowflake in my hand; it was a little different to what I had expected. It was soft and white, like a small part of a cotton ball that had been torn up. It was not cold to the touch, rather it was its extreme softness that was most surprising. The snowfall was very light, like the falling of leaves or flowers under a tree in a gentle wind. I stayed outside, feeling wonder, until the snow stopped falling.