I love how the light changes with the seasons. The later it gets in the year, the lower the sun hangs, and the more it actually reaches into the rooms of our home. Every day, the leaves of our birches turn a little more yellow, and soon no leaf will be left on the delicate black branches. My dear old neighbor passed away, and I have felt her presence with me ever since. As always, there is so much I would like to say, but my words are stuck. I wonder if that knot will ever loosen.
☙




















