On the last day of March, this is what we have woken up to. A few centimetres of snow, just casually sitting on our front deck, resting on the trees and stretching out over the landscape.
It’s as if it is making some kind of sick, twisted joke. I have so often talked about how I want to climb the mountain to show the children the view over my hometown, the mountain they have been looking at every day since we arrived here. Because of the long winter, there has been lots of snow up there, and my girls would not make it up there without hours of painstakingly whinging, so I’ve held out, hoping for enough sun to melt it, just in time to get one climb in. And then this. It’s mockery.