Instead of trying to sprain my way up the driveway, I chose the less direct route, cutting across the lawn, causing loud crunches in the ice-covered snow as I stepped. The concrete stoop was a disaster waiting to happen; shimmering ominously in the faint glow of the street light.
There was no approaching sheet-ice sidewalks or cutting across mirror-like glistening parking lots. I walked home in the middle of the street, following the path where tires had crushed ice into far less treacherous slush. Tree branches looked like spider webs.