I knew we were in for an insanely warm day when I let the cats out early—I was in my nightshirt—and I didn't feel the slightest chill. The temperature, which was in the 60s by about 9, soon started to climb and when it hit 70, which was not a real reading, since the thermometer is in the sun, I knew one absolute requirement: I needed to get on my cross-country skis and go for a trek through the woods pronto. My guess, a sad one, to be sure, was that this could very well be the last time I'd get to ski this winter. The snow was slow and slushy, but, with the exception of one low spot that melts early, I was able to manage the trip without too many detours to locate suitable amounts of the white stuff. I easily worked up a genuine sweat, and when I was done and catching my breath, I noticed that I wasn't the only traveler taking advantage of the balmy weather. In the sunshine were the glints of "dancing" craneflies traveling up and down in small swarms. Occasionally, one or two would get tired and take a break on the remaining snow or on sun-goldened twigs. The hardy insects don't, I discovered, like to be disturbed, so while they rested, I worked hard and fast.