I have a very fond adult memory from my year in Trieste. The first day of snow up in the hills that ring the city I wrapped up warm, pulled on my hiking boots and took the funicular tram up to Opicina, where I just wandered around in mile upon mile of unspoilt snow, my boots crunching and squeaking with every step. All was white, and calm, and pure, and peaceful.

I wrote a poem about childhood snowy day memories last winter:

https://medium.com/write-under-the-moon/young-snowflakes-5c644ee3f147