For everyone who’s been cooped up indoors for most of the past nine months, the allure of the great outdoors is pretty much irresistible. That Central Park called to us when summer was in full flower is perhaps not so surprising, but calls to stroll through the park come at all times and in all kinds of weather. And there are those who would tell you Central Park is never more beautiful than when it’s covered with a blanket of new-fallen snow.

Yes, yesterday marked the season’s first snowfall. It’s practically a white Christmas — what’s one week more or less between friends?

So we trekked out in it, meeting foot-high snowdrifts armed only with hot chocolate from the nearest Dunkin’ and our usual dauntless optimism.

It’s true that we started out girded for polar exploration: insulated parkas, scarves, mittens, hats, and of course masks.

But before long we stripped off some of those layers. If the Polar Bear Club can go swimming each year on New Year’s Day in the frigid Atlantic, we can certainly exercise our equal rights in the relative comfort of midtown Manhattan.

There was some tasting of the snow.

Snowballs were thrown.

There may even have been some snow yoga.

And then it was time for the thermal undergarments to go back on, and the outergarments with them. A little touch of winter is a fine thing, but as Artisotle himself might have observed after doffing his toga outside the Lyceum in some long-ago solstice season, there’s such a thing as too much of a good thing.

But there’s also such a thing as too little. And all of us have been in too-little mode for too long.

We applaud the brave women who breasted the elements to bring you this report from the (cold) front.

Our next report, we promise, will be much warmer.