On a clear winter afternoon in Aurora the whole Front Range stands white along the western edge of town, and when the chinook comes down off it the thermometer can climb thirty degrees before dinner. That thaw is beautiful and it is a trap: meltwater crosses the drive at four and turns to glass by eight. Rocky Mountain Snow and Painting works both halves of it — plowing and shoveling while the storm is landing, then treating the sheet of ice it leaves behind. Lots get scraped down to pavement, walkways get opened to their full width, entries get sanded where the shade sits all day. Under mountains like those, a clear drive is a plain and honest thing to take pride in.