Snow on the hills of Arran. The view of which is stunning on our drive to the nearest town. White capped peaks - clear and sharp on a sunny autumn afternoon. The nearly five year old is hoping for snow this year. He remembers his first two winters in our house - deep and white - the severest known to the British Isles in decades. Snowmen, ice and snow laden woods. Fairy lights in our neighbours garden which - glittering in the dark - enchanted my son and I both.
It is beautiful here in the snow. A winter wonderland, missing last year amidst the gale force wind and rain. Forecasts speak of a cold, harsh season ahead, so my eldest may get his wish.
I like not to drive in the snow - no one does. Our back stair pipes freeze in minus conditions and our kitchen becomes very, very cold. But we will wrap up warm - wool, and fur trimmed hoods. Let our fingers freeze and our toes grow stiff from the chill. To be five and in the snow, to believe in Jack Frost and Santa Claus. We are on borrowed time before my clever child catches on.
Let winter be magical while magic still exists. Narnia, Tom's Midnight Garden and The Children of Green Knowe - I love them still. In our modern world traditional magic is being lost... how to impress a boy who has seen every graphical computer trick before he has even started school? But we are lucky here... my son is a child of childish tastes - a trait not so common as it sounds.
Magic lives in this house - in the woods and in the fields around. Snowmen come to life and Father Christmas really does land on the roof. I have convinced my boy, I will convince my girl, and for now - while my family are young - for a love of the magic that winter brings - I am happy to believe. I will spin them my tales, ever prone to fancy, and be almost convinced by myself... x