OTOH woke to sullen snow under a leaden grey sky. Heaved self from bed, ready to put on woolies and go outside to shovel, gingerly, the heavy accumulation. Pulled back curtain to check and there, by god, was the saint in the yellow coat and his snowblower coming up towards my house, having cleared the other side of the street completely. But saint with snowblower must have been tired because he stopped at my brother's house next door and turned round to go home. So got woolies on, but by then my brother was out shovelling, and all was well.
(Or maybe saint is merely peculiar about who he uhh blows. He'd left untouched the renovating house down the street, formerly the Indian gardener's, and the irresponsible cottager who was denied mail service one summer when her garden's milkweed and cosmos overgrew her front walkway: but also the two very elderly ladies next to that. So I did Florence and Mary's sidewalk on my way to work, with the car shovel I brought to clear our diaper / garbage/ recycle drop.