A world inside a snow globe
I can sense it has snowed during the night when I wake up. The world seems quieter yet more full. I rush to the kitchen to confirm my suspicion.
My little street is deep in snow.
My usual ritual is to grab my winter clothing and layer up for a morning outside. I brace myself against the cold and zip my jacket up to my chin. With a crunch, I am on the sidewalk and in a different world.
Life in a microcosm
In the summer, the Swiss landscape is saturated in vibrant green and blue. My gaze can stretch to the distant Alps when the skies are clear.
But in winter, as the clouds hug my little haven, I become deaf to the world outside. Something about snow reduces my world to the size of a snow globe. My room with a window view of the falling snow is all that matters.
It pulls the immediate world into hyper-focus. Crisp pine leaves, shy mosses, and rabbit prints are my new world. Anything further than 50m becomes a suggestion. Even sound becomes highly localised. As the cloud smothers the forest, my ears become prickly, and I catch the crunch of my own footfalls and bird chatter.
The secret life of the animals
I love the secret wildlife that the snow unlocks—all of a sudden, animals I never really consider as living nearby come to life around me.
I can see footprints of hares. I see many. Tracks cross and bounce from place to place. I can also see the steady tracks of a deer, determined on its way.
My favourites are still the foxes. They follow their noses from tree to tree, changing pace and path. It tells a story of their curiosity.
Soninke Combrinck
I write about connecting with nature as I chase my own adventures around the world.
