Tabula Rasa

It surprised us. Its sudden presence caught us off guard. We blinked and rubbed our eyes twice before believing the glare. We had to ensure it wasn’t a deception of the foggy morning mind. But when our eyelids lifted, every wall remained illuminated, not a single shadow in our presence. This heavenly glow. So phenomenal and new. We allowed ourselves a moment to breathe in the change. A shuffle of feet all around us meant our children had also been awoken by this new light. We shared a glance. “Your turn!” I quipped, before they even had a chance to open their mouth. Sacha rolled their eyes and then rolled off their side of the bed, readying themselves for the demands the small ones would bring. Breakfasts, games, stories they were desperate to be told. The routines and moments that energised and exasperated us all at once. The knowledge that one day they would no longer be required was enough to carry us through. As Sacha drifted from the room I tilted my head back and pondered the shift in climate outside. This year had been our harshest summer yet - scorching winds, barren lands, soaring temperatures that we had never experienced before - for so long the snow hadn’t fallen. We had longed for its delicate flurry. Its chilling cloak. The descent of the snow meant something. It symbolised something. Now it was here we knew the new season was almost upon us. I threw open the curtain and was so blinded that I had to throw my gaze skyward. There I was met with an endless sheet of deep sapphire blue. It was clearer than I expected. Sharper. Not a single smudge or blemish perforated its perfection. Clouds nowhere to be seen. A seemingly scorching sun was creeping up over the easterly horizon. It was earlier than I thought. Neither confusion nor doubt had a moment to cross my mind before the scream invaded my ears. “JEM, COME QUICK.” Hurtling downstairs I saw my partner gripping the doorframe with an intensity I hadn’t seen before. I hurtled to their side, holding them with all the safety I could muster as they slid downward. Their eyes were locked onto the street. When I glanced in the same direction, what I saw wasn’t snow. It was the illumination of floodlights. The devastatingly blinding glare of police cars. My eldest child in handcuffs. Their head low. A gentle drip drip drip falling from their fingers all the way down to the barren ground below. A set of unmoving legs. Had it been snow we would have seen a slow crimson seeping into the crisp whiteness. Harsh little stings of imperfection, following their steps towards the back of a car. Had I not seen their anger? The extent of a malice I didn’t know was there. A father’s ignorance. A child’s mistake. I stared at the little drops on the ground and wondered if my child would ever experience the snow again.