Last winter really walloped Toronto, as it did a lot of places. Six feet (1.8288 metres) of snow seemed to make obsolete the shovels and arsenals of salt set aside for battling the build-up. NYC is much more mild (for which I'm grateful). Overnight, however, we were treated to a blanket of fresh, white snow. As a kid, snow was magical to me . Rare it was, down south. Last night, I awoke to see it snowing. Magical, I thought. Warmed by the knowledge that the magic is not gone, I turned back to the pillows and the blankets and my sweetie sleeping soundly, and closed my eyes. Of course, deep down, I long for spring and warmer days, for beach trips and bike rides, for lemonade and iced mint tea. But for now, I'm here. I am at home.