One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; they stop at the rim of the ice-edged, fish-freezing waves and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find.

~Dylan Thomas, A Child's Christmas in Wales