Comparing this with photos of snowboarding in Japan, it's a tough competition as to which one would win. Here, the sun shines through snow encrusted trees, like millions of tiny diamonds. Branches bare, the snow melt drips making tiny holes at the bases of the trunks. As I walk further, and up steep snow drifts, it opens out onto heathland, and there, right in the middle of the central path stand two snowmen.
The golden light shines down on them while big pilows of snow cast interesting shadows across this flat summit. Creepers the only thing standing tall and strong in this harsh cold.
What's weird about this place is that it's quiet. There is a road about 300 metres to my right but the snow has a magial property of muting absolutely anything. All you hear is the fresh crunching of it under your feet or the odd drip or distant jingle. It's definately something to appreciate when being back in this home town.
Heading back down a narrow path, the light changes. Blue. Like you're in an ice cave, the branches seeming to almost wrap themselves around you, wavy thick and thin branches. Footprints in the ice lead the way with Tom at my side, sliding as he accelerates too hard with his four paws.
Emerging from this cave, the same golden light at the summit cascades down on me but this time as soon as I became used to the brightness, slick, black tarmac presents itself. Noise rings through my soul, echoing chaos. Tom feels it, I feel it, this has nothing on Japan. But at least for a moment I found it.
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