The snow is back in my life now that I have moved to the mountains. Snow satisfies the skiers in town, but leaves the rest of us, shovel in hand, panting, as we try to move it out of our driveway before barreling into another day at the office. My typical day now consists of getting into the office in the dark, only to leave twelve hours later in the dark, all of which is made more complex by the cold, white frozen precipitation that has begun to fall from the sky. Our house, up on the bench of the Wasatch mountains, has beautiful views; it also receives much more snow than the inhabitants and dwellings of the valley. Snow, its good and bad, has merely become a fact of life that we have to manage. And maybe one day, I can get a new car that will actually carry me up the snow-covered hill leading to our house.