Olive, Galatea, Illinois, December 1908
The small child, in a flannel nightgown dotted with snowmen, stretched on tiptoe to press her nose against the windowpane.
The sun was yet to rise, but the sky was heavy with a hovering whiteness like the clouds of locusts that descended over the prairie each summer.
The streets were buried under the light of the sky come down in ice to earth, the rich black soil suffocated under all that light.
Taking her face from the frozen glass, she struggled to open the window.
She thrust her hand out, palm up to catch the falling crystal flakes.
"The light is so cold," she whispered. "Beautiful cold."
from Light and Its Shadow by Shelley Berc (first paragraph)
This is my favorite first paragraph from a novel. Reminds of Iowa snowstorms when I was small. Especially the contrast of white snow against the "rich black soil."