Four in the morning in Boston, and the harbor wind has already stacked the night's snow along the bowfronts and the triple-deckers the way it always does. Riddle Landscaping is out in it — blade down the length of a driveway, walks cut clean to the brick, a lane opened through the gray drift at the curb before the first commuter shoulders a storm door into the dark. There's a plain, physical pleasure in that work: the straight wall of a bank, the black stripe of pavement where an hour ago there was only white, the small mercy of a path running from a doorstep to a street. Across Boston and the towns pressed close around it, that is the whole job — snow removal that hands a place back to the people who have to walk it.