After tunneling through the curbside snow pile to get to our bright yellow mailbox that the town snowplow so skillfully buried, I found a note from the postal service that we had to maintain a thirty foot approach and exit to and from our mailbox, or not get delivery. I'm not sure why a stubby little fifteen foot mail truck needs sixty feet to deliver the mail, but I dutifully blow away what the plow leaves there each day after it passes. While I love winter, I have to admit that there are times when I long for spring.
But, spring isn't exactly around the corner, another Nor'easter is. So, I thought I would bring a hint of warmth into your life as you throw another log on your fire.
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