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Weekly Contest #35
There are things that I’ve long since realised are to be expected in a town like the one I live in, one way up in the hills, nestled in a rather indefinable spot in the North of England. As consistent as water being wet, or grass green, winters here bring a ridiculous amount of snow. As the days turn to weeks and weeks to a month or even more, the biting wind brings about some shapeshifting urges in the snow: it twists and turns, lays white blankets on gardens, thin snowy caterpillars on window ledges and deep, alabaster banks against the wa...
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