Walking down the back alley to school, it’s obvious we’re dealing with the after-effects of three feet of snow falling in three days. Snow banks are higher than our picnic table. Windrows are up to my waist. The sound of snow shovels scraping sidewalks is all around me. Some neighbours have shovelled their driveway snow into the alley, and some have been kind enough to push it back into large mountains against the fence. “Lots of snow, huh?” I say to one sweating shoveller.
“Wish I owned a snow-blower right now!” he replies.
Further down, a guy in blue coveralls is chipping ice off the edge of his roof. A car is partially buried in snow. Near the end of the alley, another car is firmly wedged in a snowdrift, and its owner is frantically trying to shovel it out.
At times like this, it’s almost a good thing to not be able to afford my own set of wheels.
At least the trains are still running.
By the way, this is a picture of the snow on our garage roof.