Midnight in January, and the wind reaches Oak Park straight off the flat land west of town with nothing at all to slow it down. Dan Dan The Woodman is out in it, doing snow removal in a village of long straight blocks that drift shut fast and open just as fast when someone gets to them. A blade dropped on a Madison Street drive at two in the morning is a small promise kept: by seven the walk is passable, the car can back out, the day happens on time. The work is loud, cold and mostly unwitnessed, which is part of why it matters. Come daylight the only evidence is clean pavement and a tidy bank of snow pushed exactly where it belongs.