Trees On The Move

About Trees On The Move

West of Calhoun Road the fields still run open, and when a clipper drops down out of Alberta the snow doesn't fall so much as travel — sideways, in ropes, refilling a driveway twenty minutes after it was clean. That is the hour Trees On The Move keeps: two in the morning, headlights, the steady scrape of a blade against the dark. Cul-de-sacs off the long north-south roads get opened first, the piles stacked where they won't blind anybody backing out at seven. Salt on the pitched aprons, a shovel where the truck can't reach, the ridge broken at the curb before it sets up hard. By the time New Berlin's kitchen lights start coming on, the way out is already there.