I find it astounding how each and every season offers its own joy.
It strikes me, particularly, as we make the slow turn from fall to winter. How difficult it would seem to leave beloved autumn, with its soft light and golden colors and picture-perfect everything.
But then December dawns with its own glorious rewards.
Soft misty sunrises over the lake.
The splash of camellias, prolific and bright.
The faithful cardinal.
Oh, December, here we are marching headfirst to the quiet of Advent, through the bustle of the holidays, toward the grand promise:
the coming of the light.