Stone
Technically it may have not really been snow; it was just rain thickened by cold and bolstered by ice. It was January in Tasmania and by all common measures it was summer – and yet there was still frozen water falling from the sky. The wind that brought the rain was straight from the southern ocean, cold and heavy with water. It did not knock politely on the window of the car, or the windows of the small wooden chalet, and request to come in. It found its own way in, through cracks and worn seals. Or failing to gain access it rattled and banged at anything loose or frail. The car bounced a little on its springs as I wondered what to do. I was glad I had a hat and wished I had some gloves. There were three other cars parked near me, all of them were hire cars. I could see faces inside them, disappointed by the turn of the weather. Two of them had their engines running, presumably for the heating. There were white horses on Dove Lake and Cradle Mountain lens