In January the Aurora Reservoir goes pale and stiff, and the wind comes off that open water with nothing at all in its way. It is the wind that fills a driveway back in twenty minutes on the streets east of the water, and Rockies Cleanouts plans around it — clearing wide, stacking the piles downwind, returning when the drift does. Snow on the high plains is dry enough to blow like sand and heavy enough at the berm to stop a car cold. The work is plowing, shoveling the walks square, and treating the ice that hides along the north side of a house where the sun never reaches. Somebody backs out at seven without thinking about it once, and that is the entire point.