Personal Narrative-The Corruption Of Snow

The old taxi van drove up and down the bumpy road on the way to our grandparents' small village, Novo Selo, located on the very border of Bosnia, 1200m above sea level. The taxi driver, dad and mum sat up in the from while we four children sat on the long, brown, cracked leather seat at the back, with all the luggage of course, squished. But this didn't matter. Our gazes were caught on the winter wonderland outside. The ground was blanketed in sparkly white snow, and the tall, once-green trees were now completely white. Growing up in hot, dry South Australia meant we had never seen snow before - it was a childhood dream. To see snow, build a magnificent snowman, and stick a bright orange carrot for a nose, place a big red pot on his head and a long woolly scarf around his neck. And that dream was coming true, right in front of our eyes.
The last winter had very little snow, which was very unusual as the village always received its fair share of freezing winter blizzards, and chilly winter winds, making it hard for the farmers to look after their livestock. But the previous winter there had been none. Nothing. We had almost given up on seeing snow, on building a snowman, having a snowball fight, but on the inside - despite the snowless winter, we hoped that we would be lucky. That we would fulfil our childhood dream, despite knowing that the chances were extremely