Going south and east into Connecticut yesterday, and coming west and north today, I found myself looking up into continuous hillsides of leafless trees. The snow line was right at the Massachusetts border, and the Holyoke range had ranks of deciduous forest rising along the southern flanks. I love being able to see into the woods in the winter, to see the shape of the land underneath. The trees feel like the pelt of a creature, and the whole landscape seems both living and sleeping.
And here you can see us in our fancy duds, ready to drive away to a night of food, drink and iniquity. It was a good time.