The last time I was in snow ecstasy was in February. The photography gods were thoughtful enough to shake me awake at 5 am, and I went forth into the darkness, camera in hand, to capture the spirit of the snow. That morning, as I wandered alone in the silence, I understood the meaning of pure joy. Such a euphoric moment (and the images created as a result) would have lasted me for life, truly. But a few days ago, Paris was graced with another breathtaking snow—my ecstasy (and photographic) cup runneth over. This time, the snow started at 8 am. The photography gods were off somewhere having coffee so I was grateful that a friend called me out of my slumber. Snow was swirling everywhere, changing even the most familiar of Paris scenes into something completely new.