Snow, the wondrous gift of beauty and purity combined, summoned by God’s own hand (or nimbostratus clouds – depending on your point of view) but Britain doesn’t deserve it.
Throughout the centuries, snow has inspired great artists, writers, and musicians to produce work worthy of the wintry confetti with which we in the Britain, are so rarely blessed.
Take Irving Berlin’s classic yuletide ballad, ‘White Christmas’ for example…
‘Where the tree tops glisten
And children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow, oh, the snow.’
…Or Emily Brontë’s mysterious 1837 poem ‘Spellbound’…
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
…Or consider Claude Monet’s 1875 masterpiece ‘Snow at Argenteuil’…
…and, continuing in this great artistic tradition of paying homage to one of Earth’s great wonders, what pray do the good people of Suffolk have to contribute to the genre?…