January doesn’t ask us to rush.
She asks us to listen.

To the hush between waves.
To the glimmer beneath the surface.
To the quiet knowing that something beautiful is forming… even when we can’t see it yet.

November feels like the soft inhale before winter arrives — late–autumn light, deep plums and mauves, peaches warmed by the last of the sun. The garden winding down, the end of harvest reminding us that not everything blooms fast… but everything blooms when it’s ready.