Danbury sits in a bowl of hills, and winter finds it early — coming down off Wooster Mountain and through the Route 7 notch with almost no sound at all. Jaiiro's Tree Works works the dark end of those nights, when the only things moving on Mill Plain are headlights and blowing powder. There is a plain satisfaction in a clean pass: pavement showing black again, the bank squared off where it belongs, room enough to back out at seven without thinking twice. Storms here don't ask first, so the answer is simply to be out in them, and to leave the way open behind you. By the time the city wakes up and the hills go pink, the work has already been done and gone.