(First paragraph) Growing up as a child in southern England, my early memories of snow include trudging home from school with my father, gazing at the seemingly enormous snowdrifts that smoothed the hedgerows, fields and bushes, while listening to the soft “scrunch” of the snow under my Wellington boots. In the country, snow stretching as far as I could see was not a particularly uncommon sight. The quietness of the land under a foot of snow seemed eerie. I cannot remember the first time I looked at snowflakes per se; my interests as a small child were primarily in their spheroidally shaped aggregates as they flew through the air. Many years later, as I cycled home from my office in Coleraine, Northern Ireland, I remember being intrigued by...