It's late and I don't feel like sleeping. Instead I've been listening to Mozart and finishing Last Lovers, the William Wharton book. Ever notice how finishing a good book feels of emptiness? Kind of like saying goodbye to good friends who you haven't yet realized you will never see again? I do so mourn the last page of a good book, the last visit with rich characters. Anyway, while I'm still up and wondering if Jack ever took the next cab out of Paris, I've decided to post another of my favorite shots from last winter's hiking as a hint of things to come. This is a shot of Atticus on the primitive bench near the summit of Mt. Tom. I decided to go with black and white because it was close to it anyway with the starkness of this cloudy day, the ice, the snow, the naked trees. There are days up on top of these mountains where it is more glorious than you can imagine, then other days when it is gray and dismal and the wind howls and calls to your loneliness like a ghost. This was that kind of day up on the Willey Range.