The forecast promised flurries and delivered a whiteout. By mid-morning the street had gone quiet, the cars were soft white mounds, and the only sound was a neighbour scraping a windscreen somewhere out of sight.
We walked to the park after lunch, cameras in coat pockets, and shot until our fingers gave up. Snow flattens a city’s colours into greys and whites, and everything familiar turns unfamiliar in the best way.
By evening it had already started to melt. That is the deal with snow days: they are borrowed time, and you either go out in it or you miss it.
