A clergyman in Maine has a much better perspective on the snow than I do (I needed to read that after an early-morning shovelling session!):

The snow had just started falling here in southern Maine when I got up at 7. At 10 I went out to the store to get a few things my wife said we were short of, and the wind was blowing fairly hard, stinging exposed flesh with hard-driven flakes.
This is the first accumulation we’ve had this fall, and I always marvel (I’ve lived in the Northeast all my life, save for a couple of years in the Army) at how quickly snow looks natural to me. Spring comes slowly, with the melting of each long-resisting patch under the trees, but winter arrives in a moment. The wind itself is white, as the blowing snow outlines its eddies and billows. Now I am sitting at my desk in my study, looking out at the stand of trees between my house and my neighbors, and it just seems so right for the bare ground to be covered over with snow.
I would feel differently, of course, if I had to work today, and drive the 22 miles to the city, but today is a perfect day for the first snow, a day that always makes me think that the one constant of life is change, but that even change itself must follow a long-established path. The year has entered its own Lent, but in the snow there is the promise of its melting, and in its whiteness it portrays the purity of faith that spring — and Resurrection — will come.
Peace and light to you.