Back to Vermont for our annual visit to "real" winter. My husband and I are longtime cross-country skiers, and nothing satisfies our longing for snowy woods like the mountains here. This year the snow is exceptionally deep and powdery, and our appreciation for it has been intensified by the arrival of our not-quite-three-year-old grandson. Having grown up in Los Angeles, he has never seen snow. His excitement and wonder are contagious. Despite dauntingly cold temperatures, he is willing to stand patiently to be dressed in many unfamiliar layers just so he can launch himself into the powdery fluff. His dad teaches him to make a snow angel, and he is entranced. But instead of falling on his back, he lies on his stomach, flapping his arms like a swimmer in the snow. He struggles to get to his feet, laughing at the snow on his face. He obviously doesn't care about the result of his efforts, just the joy of the experience. It's a lively reminder from our very own snow angel.