Ten minutes drive from my house, Lincoln Woods, in Lincoln, RI, is a welcome snowy retreat. My walk around the frozen lake reminds me of long Russian winters from my childhood, when afternoons were spent ice skating until I could no longer feel my toes. The air is crisp, tinted with pine which solemnly guard the edge of the lake. Some days, when the ice is very strong, groups huddle around openings, ice fishing. There is no better place to contemplate the serenity and majesty of winter.
