In the morning I usually walk to work, a routine activity that has become a more frigid experience with each passing day. It is no longer sufficient to wear my knit gloves and stuff those covered hands in my pockets. They are still cold under all those layers. I certainly don't live in the coldest part of Armenia. There's no snow on the ground here yet, just crunchy ice puddles. But on my walk to work I look up at the surrounding mountains and watch as the white blanket of snow is slowing stretching down the mountainside and into our valley. It's only cold now. The incredibly-cold is coming….