The billowing clouds are a palette of grays kissing the tops of the mountains. It looks like they’re breathing when they move over the top of trees and cast swathes of shadows to the forests below. It’s a dance of light and shadow.
It has been a subdued autumn with muted, quiet colors. The air has turned colder, but we did not have a hard frost to turn on the switch to change the leaves to brilliant, bright hues. The color is there, just quieter, and more at peace with knowing winter is on its way.
There are times when you find the most perfect book to read. It’s like the time your eyes meet when you fall in love, or the perfection of your child, or the crystalline perfection of the sun, water, and sky melding at the horizon. The perfect book for the perfect time is such a gift.
I have no control over purchasing books. The joie de vivre from learning about, purchasing, waiting for them, discovering them, and reading them is a potent drug.
