It started in the night, a rustling noise hitting my window like leaves spinning in the fall. Convinced I was sleepy, I pushed it off as a trick of the dark. The next day I awoke to a sprinkler, spraying my roof in cold, white sprays. Confused, I looked outside my window, only to see that it was snow. Fierce snow. Biting cold snow. It rushed in a fury, like a twister, releasing its anger into windows and trees until it finally pummeled into the thick, white pillow below.
Its intensity was unlike any snowfall ever experienced before, the flurries scattering in the fierce wind like a sandstorm in the dry dunes. They bellowed through the day, burying everything in their way; roads, cars, homes; their rage putting everything at standstill.
But in the night, when the fury finally calmed, we were left with only pure white dunes outside the window, sparkling underneath the night sky like sand below the stars. So perhaps this was the beauty of the Midwestern desert.