What delight I feel when the snow falls. Gentle tufts floating down at rapid speeds. Puffy white pours down, as if some god had shattered the clouds, and softens the points of the bare tree branches. Sharp angles on buildings and cars turn cushiony. White messengers beautify any landscape, even the most run-down, littered city street. Before the shovels and salt come out, before the ploughs emerge, we all end up under the cold and lovely face of snow.