After the snow squall our cabin looked for all the world as if it had been painted onto the canvas of the mountain by some romantic artist. Yet while it roared, sudden as it was, strong as it was, sounding for all the world as if it was right overhead, we thought we might go up in the air on our way to meet the wizard of Oz.
The snow squall came at us like the world was an old fashioned television set that had just lost reception.
From sunny snow day to g-force squall in seconds, the kind that gets you spinning if you aren't anchored to somethin.'
And just like that, in an instant, our little pocket of the creation was as thick with a snowy squall as some tyrant shaken snow-globe.
The snow squall began as if by pent up divine rage, flurries of white cascading from clouds of heaven-spun silver.
From the generalised cloud of ancient-silver palette came a snow squall fierce and strong, as if the gods themselves had spoken it into existence.
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