Ron Weber

There comes a time in mid-November, weeks after the kaleidoscope of color has faded, when my thoughts turn towards steely gray skies and drab woods hopefully coated with a few inches of fresh snow.
Towards other like minded folks, some whom I may not have seen since last year’s November gathering, but whose company feels as comfortable as a favorite recliner. Towards the coming of those nine special days that in many ways give the rest of the year meaning.