Snow here is powder, tiny spicules of frozen water that glisten like precious stones as the sun moves across the drifts. Dry in the single digit temperatures, this snow is a plaything for the wind whipping around the subdivision. Any obstacle becomes a shaping tool as the wind moves the snow here and there, stripping flat areas of white down to the grass, piling up mounds behind trees. Not content with drifting two, three, even four feet deep, the knifing wind shapes the mounds to its own creative desire, building ridges, valleys, overhangs and peaks. Like a sand dune slowing creeping forward under the wind’s urging, these small snow waves leave behind lines of resistance, each curving along the contour of the shape and leaving the ground marked like a topographic map.