It’s snow joke
SNOW, and the sort of snow that denies physics. Snow that falls, but only to swoop up to collect under the chin, under the brim of a cap. Snow, and the sort of snow that confirms meteorology. Snow that turns the blue air of a March, spring-promising morning white.
People wish for snow at Christmas, but, in my lifetime, there have been more pale Easters than white Noëls. So, no change there for English country folk. In 1820, John Clare observed in The Shepherd’s: ‘March month of “many weathers” wildly comes/ In hail and snow and rain and threatning hums.’
