The world seen through windows

When I was a kid and it snowed over night and the only thing I wanted to do was go out in it, Lizzie insisted I clean my teeth so they wouldn't look yellow when I smiled against a back drop of snow.  
The cherry tree opposite looked like unbrushed teeth this morning.  I felt sorry for it.  It had been upstaged in whiteness by a spring snow that should have known its place and done its pretty stuff at Christmas.
I woke up with that feeling you get when you're ill but you've had a long deep sleep and you precipitate wellness. 
It lasted 10 minutes.
I went back to bed but the light had changed to that sharp snow light that makes everything feel cold.
Emma upstaged my covid infliction by slipping down the garden steps while smoking a fag.  She rated the pain 9/10, akin to childbirth, but was later discharged from hospital with muscular traumatism.  .
Lisa Galton, who'd flown in with the snow, rang on the bell and left soup, bread, jars of strawberries and Diant's gateaux before I could even catch sight of her from the window.  
She'll fly back on Tuesday with whatever the weather wants to throw at us next, but they're be no gin or craic or music this time.