The frost this morning was so thick it prompted an argument between Hanna and Isak as we cycled to school as to whether it was really snow (Isak) or just frost (Hanna). I suggested that in view of how late we were for school it might be better if they used their energy for cycling faster rather than continuing with what appeared to be a deadlock.
As I cycled to my school this afternoon at around 2.30 the daylight was already beginning to fade and the frost was indeed so thick it gave the ground a vaguely geriatric look, like “salt and pepper hair”. The grass had been flattened as if a brush was pulled through it, and the white of the frost lay heavy on top, like a thin layer of icing sugar. It could have been snow, as Isak had said.
The ground is so hard, he had said as we walked into the school yard this morning, that when you jump into the sandpit the sand doesn’t squash down. It just stays in the same shape as before you landed. Maria is worried we may have left our bulb planting too late. Question is, can we break the surface of the soil?
As I cycled home in the darkness a fine light scattering of snow was beginning to fall. Pedalling into the falling snow I felt the unfamiliar sting of snow slapping into my eyes. By the time I had come up the hill to Brickebacken the falling snow had grown to what could really be called flakes. The ground was gradually whitening. I came in and almost immediately went out again with Hanna, who was going around to a friend to play after school. She sat on the rack of the bike, constantly amazed by the light falling snow, drifting down in the streetlights.
This must be what it is like to be a mermaid she said, all the flakes of snow look like fish drifting through the sea. Now there is a comparison I have not heard before.