Ode To a Plow Driver

My head rested on my arms atop the wooden ledge. A basement window I peered through covered with packed snow. My mind wandered to the fridge where a carton of milk Sat empty on the door inside my fridge. ‘I can’t go out.’ A mortal existence against a relentless cold reality. I imagined a world where there was no sunshine No light or life, like the dull gray quiet blanket of Death outside my window. Apprehensive eyes gazed through the icy pane when Amber flashes danced across the fallen panels of bleached snow. Then from out of the grey dismal quiet I saw him pull in, Inside his heated cabin atop a massive metal frame. He drops his blade. A sound so deep it shook the very brickwork around me. He begins his work with utmost skill, flicking salt and sand. Dragging back a heavy blade, then powering forward Pushing layers of the heavy shroud back with ease. With surgical precision and a 4-wheel dance of turns He gathers mounds of encroaching doom quickly As light pushes back the darkness, Lining the parking lot just outside my window. His wheels now caked in pressed ice and snow I watch him as he shifted gears, grinding sounds of rock and salt. Amber lights spin and dance atop as if a lighthouse beacon. He lifts his blade once more to exit towards the street. ‘A thankless job.’ He said to himself, alone in the middle of the raging storm. In solitude, I watched as he turns onto the empty street Dropping his blade once more and clearing a path till he was gone. A winter superhero wearing a 1-ton costume. ‘Thank you.’ My lips mouth silently as I remove my arms from the ledge With a swift movement I open the fridge door removing the empty carton. Slip on my jacket and move towards my front door, shutting it behind me. Now able to go pick up milk.