This has been a fairly snow-less winter so far. One Sunday morning writing prompt, however, dealt with the white stuff. Here's the result.

Write 12 ways of looking at snow.

One

an arbitrator between autumn and spring

keeping storm scores and stats on plummeting temperatures

Two

a cat burglar sneaking in on a passing cold front,

stealing color, hiding the tricycle and the dog’s dish,

disguising the starkness of trees with fluff,

covering its tracks as it leaves

Three

a bully, sweeping in on a fierce wind,

a white fury casting cold spells,

spinning and dancing like a colorless gypsy

tapping its tambourine fingers against the window panes

Four

A blanket of silence covering sky and earth,

flung out and floating down silently

in heaps and wrinkles

Five

an ice challenge, wicked, cold, and inhospitable,

hard as rock, unyielding even to the distant sun

Six

a nightmare like a thief in the night

stealing the familiar, leaving an expanse of

nothingness where light was

Seven

a gossamer dream, a fairy tale, a story of

eternal cold dressed in ermine, of diamond faceted jewels

that glitter under a pale moon

Eight

a blustery uncle, all noise and fake promises

who rushes in, pulls out his watch, and says, “I must hurry,”

as he dashes off

Nine

a lingering guest, one who arrives unexpectedly, expects a

room and food, languishes on the sofa with a hand to her head,

her scarf trailing across the roads and fields and tangling

in the branches of the trees

Ten

an artist with a monochromatic palette, painting with broad strokes

Eleven

an eraser, an impenetrable veil, a swirl of opaque white, a myriad of genies

escaped and coalesced, their arms and bodies so entwined that no light

pierces their white shadows

Twelve

a silence so profound one can hear only his own heartbeat counting the seconds,

his own blood swishing to the same tempo of snowflakes falling on his sleeve