With all the snow fall this year, the width of our side street has been greatly reduced, so much so that two cars can no longer passed. In an unprecedented move, the city decided to remove the windrows. This is the first time, we recall that happening in our 29 years at this address.
A sudden low rumble, increasing to a roar,
rattling all my windows and rattling the front door.
Is this the Apocalypse, the final last end?
I look out the front window, my home to defend
and spy the noise maker, all dressed up in yellow,
a shiny grader, guided by a fine fellow.
Pass after pass was made, forming one high windrow,
a mountain to be crossed, if you’d somewhere to go.
Then from afar came a powerful whirring sound,
huge spinning blades churning, swallowing the white mound.
Truck after truck rolled by, each loaded up in turn,
our street was soon cleared, with no snow piles to discern.