Coming from a harsh dry place like Australia, you never see the snow. The first time I saw snow I was in La Charmee, a tiny village in the south-east of France in Bourgonne. It was at night and pitch dark all around. By turning on the outside light of the house I saw large white flakes drifiting down from the heavens above forming this unbelievable layer on the ground. Because of the lack of light, the snow seemed to have been attracted to light as flies drift towards the mozzie killer - zap-zap, zap-zap. Cast over the countryside was this blanket of white, yet the snow would artistically arrange itself on every branch, rock and stone. Walking in the snow produces a crunching noise just this side of the sound of nails on a blackboard.
Falling snow is kind like a hug not haranguing like rain. The flakes of snow wraps gently around your clothing before melting and saturing through your body to freeze you to death.