I HOLD my hands up. It was me who accidentally prayed to the weather gods. Idling by the fire one evening with a mug of hot chocolate, I began merrily singing: "And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow ..."
It was beautiful at first. Walking through a winter wonderland, the squeak of fresh powder snow beneath my boots. Watching deer gallop through the frozen fields. Feeling like Snow White as birds fluttered around me whenever I scattered seeds and fat balls in the garden.
But the snow soon turned to ice as polished and gleaming as a bobsleigh track. Trying to get the bins down the drive, I did a set of splits and convoluted series of spins not managed since my 1988 gymnastics heyday.
In my mind's eye, I could see Torvill and Dean nodding approvingly as I engaged core muscles that I no longer knew existed to stop a perilous fall in the nick of time and glide seamlessly for several metres while pulling an overflowing wheelie bin.
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Meanwhile, my husband, having tried salt, boiling water and brute strength to get the frozen gates open at the end of the drive, eventually had to resort to chipping away at the ice with a claw hammer. It was not our finest hour.
Why does it always have to end up like this in Scotland? Each time it snows feels akin to the first time, as if someone has hit reset in our collective knowledge and we have forgotten the mayhem that frozen white stuff falling from the sky can cause.
That said, grappling with the elements in the wintry landscapes of my personal Narnia has at least been a distraction from what feels like the end of the world.
Watching live news as a mob stormed the US Capitol building in Washington DC last week, I had to remind myself that this was real life. Not the "season finale" of America – as some have dubbed it – in reference to Trump's odious and divisive four-year term as president.
It was a similar sinking feeling to the one I had seeing sweeping drone shots as thousands of lorries packed an airfield in Kent a few weeks ago (Britain's damp squib "new dawn"). Ditto recent footage of supermarkets being stripped of toilet roll again by panic buyers (Selfish Zombies III).
To stop myself from doom scrolling, I instead busy myself with what is happening in the back garden. I break the ice on the bird bath, clear paths and daydream about when the ground thaws allowing me to begin new projects.
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Back in March, I didn't know anyone first-hand who had Covid-19. This week alone I've learned of a family member, a good friend and several dear acquaintances receiving positive tests. Every day the tentacles of this virus are reaching further into the fabric of life.
But what to do? Grit our teeth and plod on. Although even that feels trite.
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