Yesterday, the morning proffered an icing of snow around the hilltops of Canberra. It is the closest that snow has got to my front door in ten years of life here. Usually, any frenzied anticipation that snow will fall is quickly dashed in much the same way it was in my childhood; Plymothian style cold rain mixed with just perhaps the odd sleety globule if you squint hard enough. But yesterday, if you got up early and aimed high, you might just have been able to build a dwarf snowman and get it featured on TV by an excitable ABC news crew.

Today, waking early despite a late evening watching bikes in France, checking my work emails to see practically no-one loved me, doing laundry by nine and wondering now what, I aimed higher. Up towards Corin Forest, but largely avoiding that school holiday playground which quickly descends into brown sludge and tears. I parked in mud and ice and ventured up onto the Smokers Trail. Not for a cheeky ciggie, but for a walk under deep blue skies and fresh eucalypt forest. Leaving a pioneering trail of steps imprinted in a few centimetres of powder, a journey capped off with a bucket of hot chips amongst the browning sludge and escalating tears. Today, off the beaten track, rewarded by chips, a perfect snow day.

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