It actually looks like winter around here—finally—with snow covering the fields and dark-eyed juncos looking appropriately dark against the white background instead of nearly invisible. Deer, squirrel, rabbit, and bird tracks make hieroglyphics that tell stories of love, fear, hunger, and death across our yards. Snowmobile tracks wind among the pines and across bridges the club built last summer and fall. Families sled and ski wherever there’s enough slope enough and skate wherever bodies of water are frozen. The roads are clear, mostly, though driveways carry the memory of ice and snow in their slush. Cars are entombed in salty spray, windshield wipers fray, and windshield washer reservoirs go dry. It can’t last. Spring is less than four weeks away.