"I'm a reasonable man, MacArthur, so I know this isn't snow."

Aiiyee- razor-sharp crystals of death, plummeting from the heavens! It's a Thread attack- get the dragons!

*ahem*

I mean, I love the whole blanket of (briefly) white goodness, but I'd love it a whole lot more, if my north country upbringing wasn't painting images of shovels and strenuous far-too-early morning exercise across my mind. Couldn't it all just sublimate away, like dry ice?