There's something very special about seeing a pine forest blanketed in snow. Icicles form on each tier of the massive ones and frost creeps up around the trunks of the aspens like affectionate cats. Every sound is more muted, muffled, except for the calls of the hardy birds that stay all winter long. If there's enough snow, you can just sit down quickly and have an icy armchair form instantly beneath you. City snow turns a nasty brown-black by every street, getting you covered in grit, but when I go up to the mountains for the afternoon in the winter, I can actually understand why some people's dying wish is to see snow.