I REMEMBER THINGS. Small things. Moments memorized, lightly carried like tiny treasures across time.

A few days out from Halloween and I’m looking at a row of shriveled and shrinking jack-o-lanterns that look somewhat like old men with missing teeth.

While picking a jalapeño and some cilantro for my breakfast this morning, I was keenly aware that the garden was starting to have a late summer look.

The Eastern horizon is becoming lighter and the coffee in my cup is extremely fresh and hot. The paper is soft ivory in color; stark white would be too intimidating at this hour.

I spent the better part of a day stringing colored lights on junipers and white on piñon. Some would question the timing. It was only November, after all.