There comes a time in mid November, weeks after the kaleidoscope of color has faded, when my thoughts turn towards steely gray skies and drab woods hopefully coated with a few inches of fresh snow. Towards other l ike-minded folks , some whom I may not have seen since last year’s November gathering, but whose company feels as comfortable as a favorite recliner. Towards the coming of those nine special days that in many ways give the rest of the year meaning.

Too excited to sleep, I will rise early and get myself ready. My memory conspires with my imagination to fill my mind with visions of what possibilities await. After a long walk, as I sit motionless, I sense the dark woods slowly lightening, candle by candle, as the sun painstakingly inches up the horizon. The stillness and quiet

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