Snow isn’t really a prerequisite for winter. Or for Christmas. Or, perhaps, for life itself. But when it sparkles like diamonds under the full moon, or in the slanting rays of morning sun; when its softness invites you to lie in it, whether you make a snow angel or not; when its silence creates a dimension of reverence, it becomes easy to connect with this most magical of seasons.

I don’t think it necessary to love winter in order to appreciate its beauty. Wherever we live, many of us are probably “dreaming of a white Christmas,” or sending holiday cards featuring snow scenes, or decorating trees with tinsel connoting icicles and lights illuminating the season’s darkness. The charm of the season may have as much to do with imagination — with memory — as it does with actuality.

But connecting with winter’s beauty is natural when you love the season. Skiers, for instance, love winter. Often traveling between the Northern and Southern Hemispheres in order to live in perpetual winter, skiers are not unbiased commentators on the season. They can be trusted only by...