Storm Emma

Storm Emma began to make her way down the Nantlle Valley from Snowdon on the morning of St. David’s day, covering the daffodils with snow as she passed. By nightfall it was clear that this was not just another of those awful gales we have come to dread, something exceptional was in the air. The moon was rising to fullness, the darkness was shrieking and howling and by morning neither entry nor exit from the village was possible because of fallen trees and debris.
Emma was still gusting and blowing strongly so it wasn’t easy to get down to the lakeside to see the transformation that had taken place there. Spindrifted snow, caught up and blown from the surrounding hillsides had accumulated in sculpted mounds around the western shores of the frozen water that was now a sea of snow covered pack ice. Tree trunks and timbers were coated as if varnished and accretions of blasted ice had engulfed every visible branch, twig and wind blown reed. Here below the instability, buffeting and noisiness everything was in a state of suspended enchantment. All was silent and still.
Two days later and the daffodils are shining out as if nothing unusual has happened!