A chinook comes down out of the mountains west of Littleton and rearranges everything — forty degrees by afternoon, meltwater running down every driveway, and then night falls and all of it turns to glass. Johnson Services works both halves of that: moving the snow while it is still snow, and getting ahead of the ice it is about to become. Drives plowed, walks taken down to bare surface, the melt given somewhere to go before the temperature drops back. Winter on this side of the metro is less about depth than about that daily swing, and it rewards whoever pays attention. Morning after morning the ground stays walkable, and nobody has to guess.