Our cold spell of arctic-like temperatures has ended, and the snow that has blanketed ground, rocks, and shrubs is starting to melt. While many people are rejoicing that today is predicted to hit 46 degrees, I am a bit sad. I’ve delighted in clear, crisp days and star-besprent nights. Bundled in layers of down and wool, snowshoes or micro spikes on my feet, I have tramped the steep hills above the Hudson River most days, Lyska or Ramble gamboling through snow up to their chests or higher. On sunny days with little or no wind I could even sit on a bench and sketch. Those walks, sometimes first thing in…