“Footprints” Doodle by Mick Parsons

She looks out the window and spits out the word ‘melt,’ the worst curse she can think of against a layer of ice and snow that will not relent. In milder winters, it was that the mosquitoes didn’t die and the backyard mud carried in by the dogs. We have dug out of this mild inconvenience as best we can. I put my faith in her curses more than the snow plow that never touches our street. There are tales of an old International Harvester with a snow plow and an engine that does not die, but code enforcement actively silences these rumors. But waiting for spring is still considered a carnal act of rebellion.