and just like that, two more seasons have come and gone. the sweet summer, sunlit and green; the fall, golden and resplendent. the mornings of late: darker now as we spin away from the sun, darker now for the clouds of grey mist suspended low in a heavy sky. as the curtains rise, they reveal snowfall in the high elevations. sunlight, when it peeks through the clouds, cuts through the atmosphere a pale silver; the rich light of autumn having given way, already. the air outside

Bow your head down When you break bread together; Close your eyes, Make a circle of hands. — Jeffrey Foucault, Dishes Early morning sun slants through the windows, catching steam curls from coffee mugs and flour clouds from countertops. Sweet apple and pumpkin spice mingle, wafting through hallways and up stairs, rousing anyone who might be thinking about sleeping in. There is much to do but it is unhurried and accompanied by laughter. Hours pass amidst piles of apple peels a