I can’t help but think of my grandchildren this morning, one group on the school run in Renfrewshire, Scotland, and the other in Göteborg, Sweden. They’ll be waking up after what the Swedes so beautifully call a Frostnatt. It’s a poetic word for a night so cold that frost gently forms on the windows and across the ground, glinting in the first light of day. Bighting, slippery, but with a certain beauty.
Image kindly provided by https://unsplash.com/@pigoff
Both Central Scotland and Göteborg are waking to the same brisk chill, sitting at -3°C with frost covering everything. Winters like this always seemed harsher when I was a schoolchild. I still remember setting off in the mornings, long before the luxury of central heating. My adopted mother—bless her—would rise early to light the coal fire, her efforts filling the house with a welcome warmth. She’d make sure there was a bowl of warm porridge waiting for me, a little shield against the cold as I bundled up in my school uniform, a thick scarf, and my cosy balaclava.
It reminds me of that wonderful old saying often attributed to Rudyard Kipling but likely rooted in Jewish wisdom:
“God could not be everywhere, that's why He invented mothers.”
So, to all you children heading out into the frosty air in Scotland, Sweden, or anywhere else touched by winter’s hand—know this: Friday is on its way, and the warmth of the weekend isn’t far behind.
