The Beauty & Magic of Snow

Nina, the snow bear, enjoying a heavy snowfall in early winter, ON (photo by M. Cox)

I grew up in southern Quebec, where the first snow of the season often came from the sky in a thick passion. Huge flakes of unique beauty settled on my coat sleeves and within minutes I was covered in snow. I would stand enraptured and study each one as I could. Snow wraps everything in a blanket of soft acceptance. It creates a dazzling face on a dark Earth. It refuses to distinguish between artificial and natural. It covers everything—decorated house, shabby old car, willowy trees, manicured lawn—beneath its white mantle. It quiets the Earth.

Old barn after a fresh snow near Wolfville, NS (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Have you ever gone for an evening walk in the fresh crisp snow, boots crunching, snow glistening in the moonlight? Each step is its own symphony of textured sound. A kind of collaboration with the deep of the night and Nature’s own whisperings.

Heavy snowfall in a forest during early winter, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
A heavy snow falls in the Beach in Toronto, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Snow is a shape shifter, charging down in a fierce blizzard and as glittering hoarfrost that forms on cold, clear nights. Snow is a gypsy, conspiring with the clever wind to form mini-tornadoes and swirling on the cold pavement like misbehaving fairies. It drifts like a vagabond and piles up, cresting over the most impressive structure, creating phantoms out of icons. Some people, fearful of the chaos and confusion that snow brings, hide indoors out of the cold. Others embrace its many forms, punching holes through the snow crust to find the treasure of powder beneath or ploughing through its softness, leaving behind an ivory trail of adventure.

Snow crystals poised on the leaves of a white cedar, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Snow is magic. It reveals as it cloaks. Animals leave their telltale tracks behind their silent sleuthing. No two snowflakes are alike. Yet every non-aggregated snowflake forms a six-fold radial symmetry, based on the hexagonal alignment of water molecules when they form ice. Tiny perfectly shaped ice-flowers drift down like world peace and settle in a gentle carpet of white. Oddly, a snowflake is really clear and colourless. It only looks white because the whole spectrum of light bounces off the crystal facets in diffuse reflection (i.e., at many angles). My son, who skies, extols “champagne powder”—very smooth and dry snow, ideal for gliding on. On powder days, after a fresh snowfall, mountain trees form glabrous Henry Moore-like sculptures. Skiers wind their way between the “snow ghosts,” leaving meandering double-helix tracks behind them.

Pump Peak, north view with snow ghosts, Mount Seymour, BC (photo by Kevin Klassen)
Skier shushing through powder among snow ghosts, Kaslo BC (photo by Kevin Klassen)
Snow ghosts at sunset, BC (photo by Kevin Klassen)

Snow is playful. It beckons you to stick out your tongue and taste the clouds. Snow is like an unruly child. Snow is the trickster. It stirs things up. Makes a mess. It is the herald of change, invigorating, fresh and wondrous. Cars skid in it and squeal with objection. Grumpy drivers honk their horns, impatient to get home; while others sigh in their angry wake. Brown slush flies in a chaotic fit behind a bus and splatters your new coat. Boys and girls of all ages venture outside, mischief glinting in their eyes, and throw snowballs. Great battles are fought in backyards where children build awesome forts and defend them with fierce determination.

The author’s son and friends playing in a snowstorm, BC (photo by Nina Munteanu)
Laundry left out during a snowfall, BC (photo by Nina Munteanu)

In the end, snow—a solid form of water—remains implacable, untouched by our spurious activities. It lies beyond our tedious attempts to salt it, dirty it, move it or make it, turn it into slush, sublimate it or even desublimate it. Snow, like the water it is, cannot be ‘owned’ or kept. Ultimately, it will do its job to energize the earth, give life, then quietly transform, take its leave, and move on. Along with its various water cousins, it will move mountains particle by particle with a subtle hand; it will paint the world with beauty then return to its fold and rejoice; it will transcend time and space to share and teach and transform a world.

Skier exploring a high mountain bowl, Cloudburst Mountain, Squamish, BC (photo by Kevin Klassen)

This article is an excerpt from “Water Is…The Meaning of Water”(Pixl Press)

Jackson Creek flows through a forest after a fresh snowfall in early winter, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press(Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.

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