Until yesterday, winter had been almost snow-free. There had been a light dusting in late November, and another a few weeks ago, but that had been it. I was beginning to feel cheated. I love snow, at least when it isn't an inconvenience and, not to put too fine a point on it, I don't have all that many winters left to me when I might enjoy it. But yesterday, Mother Goose shook out her featherbed in a fervor of spring cleaning and, like many of our March snows, it came down like crazy, piled up briefly, and disappeared almost as quickly. This is snow at its best: beautiful and ephemeral even at its most intense.
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