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Paul Gaston reports:

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"Winter kept us warm," T.S. Elliot said. "Winter kept us warm, covering the earth in forgetful snow." Before moving to Northeast Ohio, I never really understood what Elliot was talking about. Now I think I do.

I'm a transplanted Southerner, and I've come to welcome a good snowfall, just like the one we had a few days ago. When it snows, I don't mind the shoveling. Creating clear, crisp pathways through the snow invites deliveries to our front door. And shoveling those pathways in the back yard enables us to make our deliveries: seed for the bird feeders; corn for the squirrels.

And snow offers transformation " for all the senses.

Our familiar landscapes are still there once the snow has fallen; but they are changed, usually for the better. The leaf pile we had planned to move last fall is now a gentle knoll. The hose we should have stored in the garage becomes a soft white spiral. The evergreen branches stand apart. They are all the more green and, yes, "dreamlike," because of what James Taylor called their "frosting."

The ear also experiences the snow. There is a hush that falls with the snowflakes. The streets grow quiet. The windchimes are muffled. And within this quiet the songs of the birds are clear and fresh.

There is a smell to the new-fallen snow. It is branching, fragrant and clean. If you're fortunate to catch a fresh snowflake on your tongue, that is ample compensation for being outside shoveling as the snowflakes fall. And, as for the feel of snow, I have just one word: snowball.

I do not envy my neighbors who fly to the South every winter. If it's winter, I want it to feel like winter and to look like winter. One of Shakespeare's more eccentric characters says it best: "At Christmas I no more desire a rose / Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth / But like of each thing that in season grows."

By April, I'll be as impatient as anyone for the hostas to emerge, for baseball stadiums to warm up, for the ephemeral wildflowers to open their limited engagements.

But for now, for at least a few more weeks, as long as the calendar reads "February," I respond, "Let it snow."