I was always underdressed for the weather.  The two pairs of knee socks I owned were long since lost to the washer, and the wet snow flooded the sneaker’s eyelets and caught in the elastic of my ankle socks.  Walking up the long driveway under a low, pink tent of sky, my father hailed me grumpily, shovel in hand.  Across the valley, dozens of HKD snow guns shot crystalline particles into the sub-zero air.  Lights on Champagne, the slope closest to our house, reflected off the artificial clouds, illuminating the rural landscape.