From Vermont

There is a moment each autumn when the hills begin to show their true colors and the chill in the air invites us to reach for new perspectives: to slow down a bit and savor the changing scenery, ripening apples, and musty scents. The season closes in around us, instead of opening up before us. It brings a sense of intimacy, of that cozy desire to seek warmth.

Feathered visitors come less frequently to the garden, yet the squirrels, chipmunks and caterpillars have gained velocity. The goats too have new hunger. Mushrooms sprout, random umbrellas and puffed hats, dotting the yard… while stems of grass and brush begin to wither and lean with the heightened winds. It is a time of change.

And I feel at a threshold, at a point in the year when new considerations are to be made; when home feels most like home. Particular stories call to me, as autumn creeps in; this is when I most long to companion my characters and spend long hours by candlelight with pen in hand.