As autumn yields to winter, my heart finds peace in the cool, crisp days—a time for the soil in my garden to rest, gathering strength to bloom anew when spring returns. Autumn carries with it the haunting melody of Sandhill Cranes as they soar over my home at dawn and dusk, their calls filling the skies with promise. A candle glows, soup simmers on the stove, and my dog sleeps nearby. In the evening, I gather my books, pour a cup of steaming tea, and nestle into my corner chair. Outside, rain softly taps against the window. And in this quiet, I feel it: this is enough. My books, my tea, my dog. God has been good to me, and my heart is full.

Then, just like that, my world shifted. It didn’t shatter or fall apart—it transformed. Colors deepened. Blues and greens sharpened into something vivid and alive. I didn’t plan it; it simply happened, like magic, like a gift delivered without explanation. Seeds, unseen and unnoticed, had taken root. And one morning, there it was: a magical staircase, its vines spiraling upward into possibility.

I didn’t expect it. Yet all I needed to do was climb.

I’ve always loved adventure—the mountains, the unexplored roads. But after many seasons, adventure takes on a quieter form. Books and tea became my open road. And yet, when my eyes caught that magical staircase, I couldn’t resist.

The first step was tentative, uncertain. But then I took another and another. You were there, not distant as before, but close enough for me to truly see. And though some things felt unfamiliar, I realized it wasn’t just the world that had changed. I had. Time has a way of reshaping us. The person standing before you now was new, yet still me.

And there you were, no longer a fleeting thought or a faraway figure, but real and present. My heart softened. The seeds, the staircase—they appeared as if by fate. I wasn’t searching for you, not really. But when I surrendered, when I let go, magic wove its threads. The pieces of my life fell into place, and I began to climb.

Now, when I look at you, I see more than a season’s song or a mystical staircase. I see your heart, its colors blending with mine, painting something entirely new. My soul whispers, “Don’t turn back.” I listen.

Out of nowhere, from the quiet void, magic springs forth—light, hope, the shimmer of something eternal. It was always there, waiting for me to notice. The melody begins, soft and hauntingly familiar, though its notes have never been played. Until now.

As autumn slips into winter, my heart awakens, vibrant and alive. Snow feels less like a blanket of cold and more like the rush of spring’s thaw—a torrent of joy coursing through me like wild horses running free.

My heart beats strong, no longer in hibernation.

Who do I thank for this magic, this staircase, this transformation? Perhaps everything. Every moment, every misstep, every season led to now.

I settle into my chair, tea steaming by my side. Rain dances against the window in a staccato rhythm, the leaves swirling in their final flight. My brindle-coated dog sighs, content. And I sit here, my grateful heart full, knowing this is where I’m meant to be.

The seeds, the staircase, the journey. You. Us. Our autumn, our winter, our spring, our summer.