Last Wednesday, I was in the car with my mom, heading from Webs to Vermont, where she was going to leave me to spend a couple of days with my brother and sister-in-law. We were taking the scenic route through the mountains, avoiding the tedium that is the Mass Pike, when we ascended to an honest-to-God winter wonderland. Every tree outlined in white, blue mountains stretching away into the distance, heavy, blue clouds overhead. Five minutes before and later, everything was brown and dull green with the occasional patch of thin, dirty snow. But right there, right at the top of the mountain, it was alien and magic and extraordinary.