There is a day – always in late August–when the light changes, the feel of the air shifts, and fall arrives, in spite of the calendar. I love that moment. Both for the expectation of the colors of fall …but even more for the black and white world of winter. By solstice, trees have lost their leaves. Black branches against grey skies make me feel like I’m seeing the bones of the earth. Everything stripped away. All distractions gone, this is the time for stories. Time to gather around a warm fire and hot cider to listen to voices in the dark. A time of expectation. Of knowing the earth has turned once again and the light will be returning. But light comes in many forms. Both the actual light of the day – and the light of inspiration. I love the stories my fellow tellers have chosen to tell. True stories of courage and hope – of learning to listen, heart to heart, of doors opening and gifts given. I love the scope of the stories and hope you will join us for an evening of expectations – met or not.
- editor
