... as well as a few (less floaty!) biscuit snowflakes on a blue glass plate that I love even though it is wonky and won't sit flat on the table!
I think this apparently slightly perverse feeling, in the face of incontrovertible meteorological evidence to the contrary, is perfectly reasonable because actually it's nothing to do with the weather but everything to do with what happens when it snows. Snow blankets the landscape and the world seemingly holds its breath. We open our curtains or our front door and we are surprised by a magical world where the ordinary and the humdrum look enchanting; everyday noise is muffled to an unearthly silence; beauty and light are everywhere and even as an adult it is hard not to experience wonder.
I think wonder is a commodity in shortish supply in the modern world, which seems more into debunking and rationalising with the head, than simply responding with the heart. Snow, when it comes, gives me a quick shot of what my ancestors in previous generations, I have a hunch, were more readily in tune with, but which, for inhabitants of the 21st C, tends to be quite thin on the ground. Not gone completely, but infrequent - found at the birth of a child, or by the side of someone whose life is ebbing peacefully perhaps, but not an everyday phenomenon. There may not have been snow on the ground at the first Christmas, but wonder was there in spadefuls and it's lovely to try and recapture a little of that for ourselves in Christmases millennia later
So my eleventh day of Christmas blessing wishes you the blessing of wonder in your life.
May you be blessed by the experience of wonder - at the vastness and complexity of creation, at the frailty and genius of humanity, at the beauty of nature, at the miracle of life itself and its origin, at the depths and lengths to which true love will go and may the blessing of winter stillness help you find silence in a noisy world because silence and wonder go hand in hand.