[This needs a nice VO and music. I'd love to do some dance trapeze for it.]

It is winter and the cold has come to our city.  And though it is said that Winter beckons the White Witch, it is in fact the White Witch who conjures the falling of the first snow. Perhaps you have crossed paths with her and did not know it. A small figure bent against the wind.  Her  long skirts gathered about her, not for warmth but for speed. Even as all sane beasts hurry inside, our lady presses on into the cold. Her steady tread breaking across the swelling chill like a sea spray, dispatching invisible eddies of frost in her wake. How does she know? How can she tell when it is time? Perhaps she tastes it in the air just as we do. She is looking for a certain clearing in a wood, an abandoned schoolyard, even an empty rooftop in the middle of the city will do.  And there she stops. And listens. Then, wide and white, like a pool of milk spread across a tipping table, the quiet surrounds her and the first snow comes.