A tense, waiting silence enfolds the land. Then one white flake swirled and twisted down ... two ... three ... More and more were drifting, like upturned rose petals floating down. Our Tolmie garden was surrounded by flake-filled air. I looked up at the moving white snow in the grey sky, felt the benediction of the feather-light cold touch on cheeks and eyelids. Snow flakes had laid their touch in blessing upon my upturned face whilst I stood alone in the silence of the garden.

Steadily the snow began to coat the leaves of the gum trees. Yellow petals of early flowering daffodils showed above cups of snow. Out of the timeless, paceless silence and the snow-thick air, came the mournful cry of the currawong. My footsteps cut tracks along the driveway between the woodshed and the house.

The snow stopped falling by mid-day and the temperature rose. Then a bitter, cold wind sprang up from the South. The sky became clearer, brittle, cold blue. By evening, though clouds still lay over the ranges, the wind had blown the sky clear above us. A band of cloud lay down over the far range, stained deep, cold red by the sunset. Darkness closed down on the white hills and valley and by morning the snow was a barely imaginable dream.