The weather computer calls it light show. Compared to lava or volcanic ash, it is. The street occasionally disappears behind the light stuff when viewed from our library, and the snowplows have been by several times to push several inches of the light snow from the street into our driveway.
We had pink snow once when I was a kid. It’s crunchy. A snowstorm collided with a dust storm, blanketing everything with a layer of barely off-white. As soon as the snow melted (which usually is within hours in the southeastern New Mexico flatlands), a layer of pink silt replaced it. It explained why the pawful of fresh snow I had popped into my mouth was so gritty.
We do get dark snow in Michigan. Old plowed and shoveled piles of white snow get blacker and blacker in the springtime as they melt, leaving dirt and road grime behind.
Please pardon me if I henceforth refer to the weather computer as the weatherman. That might be anthropomorphic or sexist, but he/she/it has been wrong more often than usual this winter. Maybe instead of looking out the window, he slogs on with all of his machines and won’t ask for directions.