January 10, 2008
I had walked to the store despite the foot of fresh snow. Stumbling over a plow bank and looking up, I see him resting in a parking lot corner. He is a large snowplow, a dedicated professional looking rig. Maybe a two-ton truck beneath it all. Yellow paint. He is dozing in the late morning sun, flecks of sweat from the night frozen to his side. He has a few scrapes, but this may be his first season. He can feel the blade hard down on the pavement before him. His muscles are tired, but it is a good tired.