Winter winds are reaching their icy hands and crawling into my room upstairs. Winds are carrying secrets; with them, thousand crimson yellow orange leaves swirl and twirl around everywhere… it’s pure enchantment.
The garden has been put to sleep for another season. Bushes have been pruned, annuals discarded and clay pots have been brought in. October’s brilliant warming sunlight has faded away and the November days are gray and chilly for the most part. Nebulous winter mornings have cloaked the valley and there’s this mysterious feeling to the garden—a lonesomeness that repels and fascinates at the same time… Every season has its own appeal; its own magic to bequest. 
October and November bring magic to the home. The feeling of warmth and home. The familiar ambience; opaque and hushed in the wee hours of early morning. A hot cup of coffee in the russet garden. Pumpkin bread and spices. Reading (hubby) Writing (me). Peace. Love. Children and grandchildren. Life is a gift. Every minute of it.
A few of the last summer roses are still in their vases around the house…
This is how my dining table has looked for the last week and a half… I found this small white vase at a thrift store and decided I should keep it. It’s now part of my growing collection of white vases. I love it! 
After I gave it a good wash I filled it up with the last of the Trumpeter roses. Love the contrast between the deep red and pure white… The roses are still looking so pretty. 
The climate here in our valley is so dry all year around, that roses seem to last forever... I usually just leave them sitting in their water, in their container and they dry perfectly. No need for hair sprays or a few days in a dark room to dry either. They would slowly dry and still retain their vivid colors and forms.
Light possess such enchanting quality this time of year… it is a different light; muted, and dappled in this vagueness and mystery that I just love. I love how it plays games with shadows on my big square dining table.
Do you love your home? Ah yes, "there's no place more delightful than one's own fireside" (Cisero)
