I love its screaming, wailing, whooping, a watchdog on patrol.
Snowflakes swirl and circle and dance in the air, fly off and away.
The snow on the ground shuffles and slides, crystal by crystal, into new formations . . . folded white towels in tidy piles between the upturned pots on the patio, frozen lake waves cresting in the lee of the barn.
Snow-horses gallop wild on silent ghostly hooves, tails flagging, up the field.
A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.