There are no seasons in Florida. No shifts to auburn, amber, or umber. No pale Winters. No visible demarcations to divide the times of the year. Nothing but fickle changes of temperature. Perhaps the only discernible difference is the length of the light we’re given. As the winter approaches the days grow slowly darker. Dusk comes a little quicker. Each day with a whisper. A reminder that the darkness can be comforting. That slowing is essential. That dormancy is necessary.
Beautiful, Duane.