These skies seem fitting for the month of November with their golden hues and restful russets. The brilliance of deep autumn hesitates ever so slightly as it hovers on the horizon, checks its bags then quietly slips into a deep slumber. It will be replaced with icy blues and white as Jack dips his brush into a frosty palette, painting our morning windows with his intricate designs.
I will miss the evenings where twilight lingers on my doorstep and beckons me with her radiance. Yet there is respite and insight, a new season...a new day. And beyond Fall's gold curtain on the edge of the morrow, there's always new hope.