I got up earlier than usual this morning because last night's forecast, if it could be believed, called for two-to-four inches of snow by daybreak... but not long after sunrise, the snow was predicted to soon turn to sleet, freezing rain, then all rain as the temperature rose into the 40s. When I came downstairs, the trio of old buoys I'd affixed to the red maple by the house told me that the Weather Channel had actually gotten things right, so I clearly didn't have much time to lose before the changeover. Several inches of white, deliciously dry powder blanketed the landscape, and when I got on my cross-country boots and skis, I was almost giddy with delight. The conditions made for a simply perfect present, and my ancient body and ski equipment—the gear dates from the early 1970s; I go back quite a bit longer than that—was more than up to the task to completely enjoying nature's finest gift.