Hospitality Comes in a Salt Bucket

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I am no more finished with my breakfast when winter begins to fall and stick to the half frozen earth. A debate toggles back and forth in my brain, about whether it is worth the few minutes of hospitality, as I slip on my shoes, step into the cold garage, and beeline for the salt bucket.

Half full looks back at me when I lift the lid. It has been a roller coaster of a winter; Mother Nature stuck between winter and spring. Tipping the can slightly, like I am ladling soup, I grab just enough, step to the edge and sprinkle the sixty year old driveway, like I am putting out birdseed.

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