It may be early in November, and not particularly cold, but the sky beyond my window is a chilly steel-gray, of the sort that creeps through the windows and hangs inside the house making it seem as though there’s never enough light.

I’ve kicked the heat on, just a little, to chase the chill from the air, but I still feel sort of drug-addled from the color of the light. So tempting to light every candle and put a log on the fire, but it really isn’t cold enough for the latter, and I desperately need to restock my votive supply.

I had cinnamon stick tea earlier, but I think a pot of coffee is called for now.