Near midnight the Poseyville bridge is a tunnel of streetlight and sideways snow, the Tittabawassee running black underneath it. D AND J PLOWING is somewhere out in that, working a route through driveways and lots while the town sleeps. The blade drops, the banks go back where they belong, and the path to the front step gets cleared down to something a person can trust. Ice control follows on the aprons and the slopes that never catch sun in January. There is a particular satisfaction in the last driveway of a long storm — the sky finally emptying out, and every address on the list already open.