There is something quite magical about snow. The way it glitters on the ground, so pure and fresh. It's not something you see too frequently in England, so to witness a Virginian snowstorm, in all its white fury, was a mesmerising sight. It came down in a thick, fast flurry, settling heavily on all that lay beneath it, transforming our world into a real life snow globe.
After the blizzard was over, the snow began to fall more gently, and watching from the warm, safe haven of home was so peaceful. I was rocking Everly, her head on my shoulder, softly singing to her, the angel wing softness of her hair brushing against my cheek, and I gazed up at the glowing halo of the moon and felt such a sense of calm in the midst of this white wonderland. And I remembered those word that fit so perfectly... "The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow. Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below."
Matt and I had dreamy romantic ideas about racing down hills on a sled with the children, the wind fast against our ears and shrieks of delight, but what we hadn't known was that toddlers and babies aren't quite so keen on the snow. After spending a careful half hour wrapping Henry in thick layers, rendering him almost completely immobile, we eagerly led him out into the snow only to have him look about, realise his small body wasn't capable of fighting fifteen inches of snow, and then ask to go back inside. As for Everly, she blinked furiously in the bright white light and let out a soft sad cry when we set her down, her bottom lip quivering at the shock of it all. So it was a quick round of photographs before we headed back inside for some cosy cuddles and a freshly baked chocolate cake.