Hues of orange and rust on the horizon, reflected in the soon-to-be dormant meadow. November falls gently like the burnt edges of an old letter or the faded corners of a favorite paperback. The subtle beauty of the twilight time of the year is often overlooked in anticipation of the busyness of the holiday season. But I always notice. I connect easy with fading light through bare branches and the early nighttime call of the few remaining crickets. One season's farewell before the sudden snap of that first snowfall. This is where eyes wander in the glow of distancing light and the heart is warmed near the hearth fires of memory and love and hope.