Snow is the ultimate in camouflage. My unraked autumn leaves and somebody’s dog’s unscooped poop all disappeared under it. Then there was your (you know who you are!) soda bottle, burger bag and leftover fries, the ones you tossed out your car window. They landed on my sidewalk before the snow. Then my snow blower sucked them in. If you want the rest of your fries, I’ll give you the name of the small engine repair shop where you can get them untangled from the plastic bottle that jammed the blades. My yard, Jamestown’s streets and sidewalks are not your garbage can.
Hugh Don Wannano, Watt Liza Round & I. Doan Pickettup