After virtuous weeks living in quilts, we turned the heat on last night. We live in what we call a "good winter house", the kind of house which warms into a crackling perfection. Creature comforts are curious things. They visit, like angels in sitcoms, almost unawares. I remember a day after Christmas, a few years ago, when a snowfall sat on the ground during a twenty degree day. I went to a local remote park, and stood by a cold, moon-shimmered pond. No wind blew. My jacket warmed my torso, as the spaces around scarf and cap chilled. I never felt so warm.